> Hegira: Eternal Delta
>  by Guardian_Gryphon
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Prologue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------


"The capital letter delta (Δ, which has the convenient form of an isosceles triangle) is commonly used in subjects of science and mathematics, often to describe change, because delta is the initial letter of the Greek word διαφορά, diaphorá, "difference." "







"Progress is impossible without change, and those who cannot change their minds cannot change anything."

―George Bernard Shaw







Earth Calendar: 2113
Equestrian Calendar: 11 AC (After Contact)
August 12th, Gregorian Calendar

April ran.  April had been running as long as she could remember, which was as long as her legs had been able to support her own weight.  April knew very little save how to run, why she was running, and her name.  Her sister had named her.  Her sister had found her on the first of April.

Sonya had saved her, and in her own unintentional way, she had condemned April as well.

Sonya was already tagged.

For April it was only a matter of time, but still they ran;  A hope against all hope that their fate could somehow be avoided.  It wasn't fair.  April was only five, Sonya nine;  Far too young to be made into experiments.  Into soldiers.

Sonya knew she had been born on the streets, abandoned from the instant she had left her mother's womb, alive only due to the providential intervention of unsavory, but concerned elements.  

April's memory, like most children, was dimmer.  The mystery of her life that once-was sometimes haunted her, in the quietest moments of the night, with only the sounds of passing cars beyond the mouth of some dim alley for company.  A time when the concerns of running and scavenging seemed distant.

She wondered what might have been.  Day was for wondering what might be next, but night was for wondering what might have been, and crying softly for what should have been.

Day was also for running.  In darkness there was safety.  Hiding was easy in the dark.
Though the sky seemed made of iron, or copper left to decay in the rain, it let in more than enough light to make hiding difficult.  When hiding became difficult, the men in armor came.

The men in armor had been chasing Sonya since she was able to run.  April knew how they always seemed to find them; When they had first found Sonya they had hurt her.  They had cut her open, laid chips all inside her back-bone.  April could still see the damage whenever she had to bandage a fresh wound on her older adoptive sister's back.

Now the men in armor wanted her too.

It was day again, and April ran, following Sonya through the alleys, gutters, pipes, and catwalks of hell.  Or it felt like what hell must be.  It seemed strange to April.  Overall New York must have been a nice enough place for anyone who could come home to electricity, loved ones, and a locked door at night, and go out into the crowds unafraid during the day.  Even the grimy underbelly of the city was surprisingly well maintained for being the most neglected part of it.

The alleys weren't what made it hell, nor the grime.  It was the men in the armor.

April knew;  She had begged and pestered Sonya to tell her.  A known fear was always better than an imagined one.  Sonya had described the way they cut her, slicing open her back from hairline to navel, laying her spine bare without anesthetic.

She had described, in the sort of clear detail only true joy, or excruciating trauma, can lend to the usual imperfections of Human memory, the way they had stabbed the spikes into her bones.

Glowing spikes.  Spikes full of tiny machines, with enigmatic and sinister purpose one and all.

The spikes owned Sonya now.  And the men with armor owned the spikes.  The men with armor owned Sonya, though she ran from them all the while.  As they used her own body against her, and followed the sisters, it became apparent that they wanted April too.

Sonya had mentioned that there were other children, dozens or maybe hundreds, when she had been cut open and filled with machines.  April had owned, or stolen, a few second and third hand DaTabs.  Some of them had books.  She knew what an experiment was.  The men in armor wanted to make them experiments.

It was a cruel fate.  April was not yet able to survive on her own.  Neither she nor Sonya trusted anyone else on the street enough to protect them from the men in armor.  Once they had tried to trust a Pony, but the men killed the Pony.  Their distrust was now for the protection of others, as much as themselves.

April didn't care much for the Ponies, except to dream of going to wherever they came from one day.  Somehow.  An escape to a place the men in armor could never follow.

Mostly, April was too busy worrying about running, or too scared that the men following them would kill more Ponies if they got in the way.  The Ponies didn't deserve to suffer.

April vaulted a railing with practiced ease, and continued pounding the pavement, inches behind her sister.  If the men in armor caught her, they would put spikes in her too.  Then, like Sonya, they would always follow her.  Always kill anyone who helped her.  Force her to survive on her own, force her to be alone so that she would learn to rely on the spikes.

Then, like Sonya, they would own her too.  If she could stay free long enough, she could escape.
But the Bureaus had an age limit, and so far little thought seemed to have been given to an exception for orphans.  The Bureaus seemed the only escape.  The men in armor had eyes everywhere.  Every camera on every DaTab, every street corner, and every drone that patrolled the skies, belonged to them.

Nowhere on Earth was safe for long.

Sonya put on a burst of speed, and rounded the corner.  April quickened her own pace to catch up, skidding around the duracrete side of the new skyscraper as her ratty old sneakers connected with a puddle.  Her sneakers always aged quickly.  Too much acidic grime, not enough time to clean them.  The acid melted the rubber.  Eventually.

Upon rounding the corner, April skidded into a man, and stopped dead in her tracks.  This man wore no armor.  This man wore a suit, and an expensive one if comparison to other men she had seen from afar amounted to anything.

Sonya was already standing behind him, quietly, as if he were protecting her.  April glanced past the man at Sonya, cautiously, and saw that there were three other men, also in suits.  Together they formed a square around a car.  A very expensive car.

From the expensive car stepped a woman.  Her auburn hair was trussed up in a curly nest that was meant to look fashionable, but reminded April more of the tangle wires and cables got into when left alone with no one looking at them.

The woman too wore a suit, but it was a deep shade of red.  Like satin.  Or blood.  A curious silver pin adorned the collar, but all April could make out about it was the twinkling glint of an emerald setting.

The woman smiled, "It's alright little one.  You can stop running.  I'm here to take care of you.  Are you cold?"

April thought for a moment.  The men in the suits had guns.  Big guns.  If the woman wanted to help, surely the men in the armor wouldn't dare to attack the men in the suits.  Men in suits meant the woman was powerful.  For the first time in months, April allowed herself a tiny hope.

She nodded meekly, and the woman gestured to her car, "Come! Ride with me! It's warm inside, and safe.  I even brought you food."

Again April hesitated, looking to her older sister for advice.  Sonya offered little to no indication, so April assumed that meant it was safe.

She took a hesitant step towards the car.  The woman smiled, "That's right! Come with me my little one."

The woman hadn't been lying;  The inside of the car was warm, and comfortable, and it felt very safe.  There was food on a tray in front of her seat.  Hot drink, and good high quality synthetic meat.  April bit directly into it without hesitation.  A good meal didn't come along very often.

It was only after the suited woman had taken a seat beside her, shut the door, and gestured to the driver, that she realized how deep a mistake she had made.  The signs all came together at once, starting with the pin.

By the light of the car's luxuriant rear compartment, April could finally make out that the woman's silver pin was in the shape of three globes, with inset emeralds in the shape of the continents.

Looking beyond the woman, and tensing, April saw the telltale indicator that had been invisible from her previous position. 
The man in the suit whom she had first run into was holding a gun, a small ugly menacing thing, to the back of Sonya's head, so hard that it was pressing a temporary indentation into her skin.

Finally, April realized that whatever she had just eaten was not what it seemed.  Sonya had given her something called morphine once, when a shot from a man in armor had cut open her shoulder.  The effect April was feeling reminded her of the morphine, but much more powerful.

As the car began to move, the suited woman smiled again, "There there.  No need to be frightened.  I am going to take extra special care of you.  I am going to give you a wonderful gift my little girl.  I am going to give you a purpose."

As she fell into unconsciousness, desperately trying to scream, the last thing April saw was the pin.  The same emblem the men in armor wore.  The same word stamped below it. 

'Earthgov.'





"In bonds of family six set out;  To seek The Dispossessed,
In joy and sorrow, grief and strife, bearing morbid stress.
Where Sun and Moon the expanse share, the six will find the power,
To put an end to Darkness...  Strife...  The war of Night's own hour."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
February 26th, Gregorian Calendar

For the first time in a century, Manhattan was being bathed in the warm glow of sunset.  Mankind's well-meaning, but ill-timed attempt to bring an end to atmospheric pollution had soured the firmament in the mid 2000s, and so for nearly one hundred years the planet had done without the sun.

To be sure, some light did filter through the more-or-less opaque teal dome above, but it was hardly enough to sustain livable temperatures, let alone a food web.  All animals, plants, and most microbes, had perished within a decade.  Man was alone on Earth, and everything man ate now came out of a synth-kelp farm.  Or from Equestria.

Equestria was the reason that the towers of New York were again being tinged with the molten auric tones of eventide.  Equestria was the reason Mankind had a future.  And it was also the reason New York had been designated a level five disaster zone.

Major General Hutchinson, or 'Hutch' to his friends, staff, and favored subordinates, stole a moment from his overloaded schedule to take in the sunlight.  The brilliant rays and warmth, reflected from the Equestrian west off the dome of their healthy sky, and back onto the Earth, were pouring into his eighteenth story office window from the east.  From the Barrier.

The Barrier, the Bubble, The end of the world...  The glimmering wall of light had been given many apt nomenclatures ever since it had sprung into existence in 2102.  The dome-shaped monstrosity was, in fact, not a solid wall, but 'merely' a discontinuity between two space-times.  The reality of Earth, and the reality of a land called Equestria.

And the latter was consuming the former.

A former scientist had once illustrated it to Hutch as an example of momentum.  The quantum reality of Equestria had ten to the third to the third more momentum than Earth's reality did, so it was going to pass through the fabric of local space, absorbing everything in its path.

That absorption came with a price.

Humans, complex Earth materials, and any remaining microbes on the planet, were totally incompatible with the quantum building blocks of Equestria's space time.  Anything 'incompatible' with Equestria was atomized violently upon contact with the Barrier.  Reduced to base carbons instantly.  To this process there was no manner or form of exception.  There was no defense.

Humans could not cross into the tantalizing fruitful paradise, that was so close, and so swiftly immolating their world.  Until Conversion came.

Hutch snorted, sipped his coffee, and smiled wryly.  The beverage was real Equestrian imported brew.

Hutch had long considered the idea of Conversion.  At first the only option had been the Equine species who had been the lynchpin of first contact between the two worlds.  Ponies.

The pastel colored Equinoids had a penchant for peace, friendship, and cooperation.  They also had a deeply ingrained passivity, and struggled with serious cultural stagnation, by comparison to Humankind.  Cultural anthropologists from both races estimated that they had been around for approximately the same amount of time, yet in those millennia Humanity had leapt ahead of Equestria technologically by nearly un-quantifiable levels.

Magic was partly to blame.  Then again, magic was partly to blame for almost everything.  While Earth's Thaumatically-arid environ could not support magic the same way Equestria's rich space-time could, its presence had still forever changed the course of Human society in startling ways.  Hutch found it easy to see why a race possessed of such power would find swift technological development less imperative.

But it was only by a combination of magic and technology that Conversion had been created.  The salvation of both Human and Equestrian alike.

With a few ounces of the colorful, sparkling Thaumatic nano-fluid, a human being could shed their Earthly bipedal familiar form, and become a member of an Equestrian race.  Memories, personality, identity, and traits preserved;  Melded with the traits and instincts, form and mentality of an Equestrian.

Humans could evacuate their dying world, and shed many of their Human flaws, and in turn Equestria could get a sorely needed infusion of Human vitality, inventiveness, and drive for self-improvement.

That was where Hutch came in.  The Conversion Bureau initiative had not met with an entirely positive response.  Some were prepared to make the symbiotic self-initiated evolution to a new species, a larger portion of the population were apathetic and dazed, and then there were the extremists.

They called themselves the HLF, and the PER.  Human Liberation Front.  Ponification for Earth's Rebirth.  Earthgov called them terrorists, war criminals, and designated shoot-on-sight targets.

The HLF were comprised of Humans who were either so terrified of Conversion, or so caught up in the baser aspects of Human nature that Conversion often eliminated, that they were willing to slaughter their own indiscriminately to terrorize the populace and put people off Conversion.

They never intentionally targeted Humans outside the Bureaus and the military.  But they never did anything to mitigate collateral damage when attacking Equestrians either.

The PER were comprised of Humans and Ponies so infatuated with the Equine race, and its powerful monarchs, that they viewed the taking of free will as an acceptable measure in guaranteeing Humanity's 'Rebirth in Light.'  The PER were all about forcing people to become Ponies, whether they were ready and willing or not.  Before, the crime had been despicable, but now it was downright unconscionable.

At first, Ponification had been the only option at the Bureaus.  There were many Equestrian races, but only Ponies seemed prepared to take part in the Conversion initiative, and it did not look as if the science would support the inclusion of the other races.

Hutch smiled once more and stared out at the piercingly blue sky, the ripples of the Barrier giving it a slight ethereal haze.  He had been part of the Option Gamma Project.  The Military code-name for the first foray into Conversion as applied to other species.  As a result, some of his best friends were now neither Human, nor Pony, but Gryphon.

A fierce, proud, stubborn mix of shining talons, sharp beaks, majestic wings, deadly claws, and unshakeable morals; Gryphons were one of the more militaristic Equestrian species.  Despite a sharp cultural divide, they had long been close logistical and military allies of the Ponies.

The peaceful Equines needed the Gryphons to protect them from the dangers of Equestria, and the valiant Avians needed the Ponies to prevent them from severing or losing too many diplomatic ties at once, and ending up in a multi-front war too great for even their considerable power.

After the success of initial Gryphonizations, several Equestrian races had signed a pact with Ponies and Humans.  The New Conversion Accords.  Dragons, Zebra, Diamond Dogs, and Buffalo were the newest options for the future of the Human race.

The Accords specified a staggering in release dates; Zebrification and Draconification had already been running for two years.  Despite initial incidents related to the latter program, the unique success of the former combined with swift and brave action had helped smooth things over.  For a time.

Then, the previous year, Diamond Dog and Buffalo Conversion Serums had become publicly available.

Hutch winced as he considered the immensely detrimental impact the former had generated.  The Buffalo Conversion program still suffered abysmally low numbers thanks to how badly the scandal surrounding the Canine serum had overshadowed it.  The effect had metastasized into the other programs as well, but the dip in numbers of program applicants had been offset by the approach of the Barrier.

For every monetarily stable person that had been put-off Conversion by the scandal, there was a monetarily deprived person who lacked the means to escape the coming Barrier by moving to another part of the globe.

But it wasn't enough.

The latest Earthgov projections, the somber material on Hutch's DaTab, indicated that unless Conversion rates increased soon, that there would be a 'bubble-up' effect.  People would, out of misplaced apathy or political, or emotional motivations, wait until it was too late.  

Serum and space shortages would result as the bubble logarithmically sped up, leaving growing numbers of Humans without places to live.

The results would be riots, famine, a three hundred percent increase in murder rates, a climate rich for increased terrorism beyond its already chronically hellacious levels, and in the end, up to two billion people would perish as the planet died.

That was the conservative watered-down estimate.

Hutch grimaced and scrolled the text with a flick of his fingers in the air just above the sensitive touch and gesture-based screen.  A second document came into view.  A briefing on new Earthgov policy.

The Global Government had struggled for years to find ways of 'encouraging' people to Convert, while walking a legal and ethical tightrope between the untenable extremisms of the HLF and PER.

Perhaps the most important laws related to Conversion were ACACIA and the harshly maligned, somewhat older, Cross Species Intimacy Act.  Equestrians and Humans were already biologically incompatible;  Even a small amount of fluid transfer was enough to kill a Human.  Equestrians were simply far and away above the Human biological tier.

But the Intimacy Act had taken things a step further, outlawing cross-species marriage and civil unions.  There had been an immediate and fierce backlash from a small minority, mostly comprised of pro-PER sympathizers, dangerous radicals, and innocent Humans who were having trouble choosing between a loved one, and their doomed bipedal form.

Despite the furor, the bill had later been amended to include even stronger language, specifying that parents could not convert unless they also converted their children, and that if a child was converted, intentionally or not, that a parent must follow suit within a year, or lose custody of their child.

ACACIA had appeared shortly thereafter;  The 'Age of Consent for Acceptable Conversion Initiation and Amenability' bill, lowered the minimum Conversion age for a Human without parental or guardian consent from twenty one, to eighteen.

ACACIA also contained new protocols for infants.  Whereas before, it was illegal to Convert any child under the age of ten, now a child could be Converted from two years of age and up, as long as their parents were also being Converted or had been Converted.

Hutch sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he read the re-summarization of the bills, and the new information on upcoming legislation.

'It shall forthwith be the policy of this Council, that the following measures, having been adopted by popular vote, be implemented at once;

1; This Council, in conjunction and cooperation with the Equestrian mint, and reputable banks, shall offer a monetary stipend and land-claims to any New Yorker who will Convert before the Barrier arrives.  The intent of this action is to incentivize the unconvinced to take initiative, in order to prevent a crisis.

2; This Council shall impose a logistics tax on any New York citizen moving away from the city, to another point on the globe, equal to five percent of the cost of whatever land or space such citizen or party is moving into, plus fifteen percent of the cost of the land or space that is being vacated, in addition to any existing taxes, tariffs, or expenses the law currently stipulates, and without exception for any circumstance.

3; This Council, in conjunction with the JRSF, and the Gryphon brotherhood of Knights, shall offer guaranteed equivalent ranking, pay, training, and a JRSF position, to any non-JRSF officer willing to Convert within the next five years.

In Council,
Vancouver
February 14th 
A.D. 2117 
15 AC'

Hutch set the DaTab down and tried to absorb the information.  It was striking enough that, while the Harrisburg facility was still intact, the Council had already moved its North American headquarters to Vancouver.

The third measure seemed a long-time in coming.  The JRSF, or Joint Reconnaissance & Strike Force, was a NATO-like paramilitary organization comprised of Human soldiers, Gryphon warriors, and Pony technicians, medics, and advisors.

In the years since the Option Gamma project, some Dragons, Lupine Diamond Dogs, and Zebra had also joined the program, but their patron races were still not yet official sponsors of the large, and swiftly growing program.

Since its inception, the JRSF had been the Accord species' first and best line of defense against threats to peace on the Earth-side of the Barrier.  There had even been talk of making the JRSF presence on the Equestrian side of the barrier more official.

JRSF Ponies and Gryphons had long-since been working to guard HAP shipments and facilities in Equestria.  The Human Archive Project was a shining example of Equine altruism;  A vast organization dedicated to saving the sum total of Human art and knowledge in a format that could be carried across the Barrier.

Hutch perused the DaTab once more, and sighed.  The Conversion incentive was a well-conceived idea, but the addition of a moving tax for those who weren't opting in felt forced.  The General's instincts told him there would be political hell to pay for the measure.

His musings were sharply interrupted by a rat-a-tat-tat on the glass sliding door that separated his office from the main war-room of Fort Hamilton.  The New York facility now exclusively belonged to the JRSF, though admittedly for only a short time more.

"Come."

The door slid aside, and Hutch glanced up to see a tall, fierce looking female Gryphon.  Seyal was one of the main Gryphic representatives on the JRSF's leading council.  She beckoned with one crooked talon, "You might want to see this."

Hutch grunted and rose, "Is this going to be bad news?"

Seyal smirked, the devil-may-care twist on her beak tinged with a faint trace of concern, "You didn't have any evening plans...  Right?"

"Oh.  Wonderful."  The words came out as an entirely flat monotone.  Hutch stepped through the portal to behold a large group of assorted officers from multiple species standing before the main holo-screen of the war room.

The space was ovoid, arching, open, and gleaming with displays, chrome, polished plastic, and thin self-cleaning military carpeting, all caught in the evening light tones washing in through the huge quarter-dome window that occupied one end of the room.

The giant display was tuned to the NorthAm News Network, and the in-studio reporter seemed to be nearing the end of his monologue,

"...scene here in New York continues to be one of muted chaos, as Earthgov struggles with the logistical impossibility of preparing to evacuate one of the largest cities on the globe, by the dreaded end-of-March deadline.  As everyone seems well aware; April showers will no longer fall on the Big Apple, whose land it is estimated will begin falling to the Barrier in a matter of weeks, and will be entirely consumed by May.  Earthgov has been attempting to ensure that there are no casualties as a result of the first major landfall of the Barrier in a populous area, but the results of these efforts are startlingly mixed.  For more on that, we're going live to Vancouver...  Ted?"

Despite the fact that it was three hours earlier in Western Canada, the lack of Equestrian sunlight made the next image dimmer than the New York studio had been.  A reporter, clad in buttoned up pea coat, was standing before a snow-dusted steel and glass building that was still partially under construction.

Sprawling out to either side were lawns of synthetic plastic grass, stone paths, and incomplete VTOL pads.

"Thanks Jim.  I'm being told that a special emergency session of the Council has just been concluded.  We'll have the pertinent footage for our viewers shortly, but I can certainly tell you right now;  There is going to be a shake-up in the halls of power.  It's not often you see a Councilor ousted before the end of their twenty-five year term, but given that this is an election year, it seems likely that the majority of the sponsors who backed the new moving tax on New Yorkers, will be facing an end to their political career.  We're about to find out."

Hutch shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the officers around him.  Their expressions ranged from concern to apathy.  Some knew the significance of what was about to come to light, others were less engaged, mostly Equestrians who did not yet grasp Earth politics.

Hutch shifted his gaze back to the holoscreen in-time to catch a view of the new Council chambers as recently recorded footage of the Speaker For All, addressing the council, began to roll.

The man's vaguely Australian accent carried and rebounded through the large, domed, minimalist-construction chamber, giving it an air of finality even across the airwaves, "By a majority vote, of one hundred and fifty two, to seventy one, this Council has approved the measure to impeach and convict the following members.  Councilor Emile Vastris of the Socialist party.  Councilor Andrea Miyagi of the Agricultural Sciences party.  Councilor Lenys Vernya, of the Socialist party.  Councilor Arno Loskys of the Transcendentalist Party.  Councilor Matthas Korvan, of the Biotechnological Combined Party.  The Council has voted.  We are all in accord."

Hutch stiffened at the final name and let out a hiss of surprise.  Korvan had been a thorn in the side of the Option Gamma program early on, and the General had emotions toward the man that were more easily described as hatred than distaste.  But Korvan had always been a strong supporter of the Bureaus themselves, even if it was generally a politically motivated attitude.

The General mentally reviewed the list of names again, as the Council descended into confusion and anger on-screen, and he noted with grim concern that most of the dismissed Councilors were from parties that had a stake in the Bureaus or the JRSF, and the rest, with the exception of Vastris, were some of the most Bureau-supportive members of their neutral parties.

Hutch was not an especially good hand at politics, he preferred the Gryphic view of candor first, followed by pragmatism, but even he could grasp the implication.  In an election cycle where the Bureaus' PR was at a serious low-point, the last thing anyone needed was to see five major party heads, from Bureau supporting corners of the Council, dismissed dishonorably.

Hutch growled to himself.  He was willing to bet dollars to bits that Korvan had been the one responsible for persuading the others to go astray and sign the tax initiative on with the other bills.  Now the initiative would surely be stricken down, *and* the Bureau had lost critical support.  To cap it all off, the initiative would add weight to the Equestrian opposition parties at a critical moment of political upheaval in an election cycle.

Hutch flicked a small holographic toggle, and the screen vanished.  The action swiftly gained him the attention of everyone in the room.  He inhaled and shook his head, "You see that, people?  That is the kind of royal FUBAR we can't afford right now."

He stride around the table and gestured out at the barrier, where the first Equestrian stars were beginning to appear.  The shimmering wall was still a few miles out to sea, but it was getting closer with each passing week.

"*That* is going to wreak merry HELL on this city when it arrives, and it is going to turn into a major emotional, popular opinion, and political shit-storm when it starts chewing this place up.  How people react is still in-play, and if they react badly then it's going to damage the Bureaus irreparably."

Hutch closed his eyes and held up his hands, "Now I can not believe I am saying this, because I swore I'd never get into this damned political nonsense...  But I want you all to have an ear to the ground on this.  A slip up in the JRSF is *just* what the anti-parties need to spread their foul-mouthed 'Celesthulu' rhetoric to the public, and I for one refuse to let their cancerous bullshit infect the populace at large.  Keep it *together* people."

As the officers nodded and dispersed, murmuring amongst themselves, Hutch turned back to the window to watch the moonrise.  

He mumbled the rest of his sentence to himself, "We have to.  Or we are all going to to go to hell in a handbasket before anyone realizes the Devil's got us."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Third Month, Eight Day, Celestial Calendar

Chrysalis didn't like Converts.  There was a peculiar tang in their aura...  A strength of buried fury that upset the flavor balance of their emotions.  She preferred Native Equestrian Ponies;  Most often timid and kind, they produced a sweetness that was just short of sickening, and absolutely divine.

The Queen sighed as she stepped calmly over the half-dead body of the shivering Convert.  The repeated feedings had begun to take their toll.  Soon he would be depleted.  Good only for the emotions of pain his death would produce in other prisoners.

As she passed the guards Chrysalis licked her chitinous black lips and shook her head slightly.  She reflected that she couldn't complain;  After her defeat at the hooves of the insufferable love-sick pink Alicorn, and her doting moronic mate, her Hives had fallen into famine and disarray.

Contact with her 'benefactors' on Earth allowed her a steady, if somewhat constrained, stream of prisoners from their paramilitary operations.  While most were Converts, this caused them to differ from Natives in flavor only.  They still fed the Hive well enough.

All the Human traitors asked in return was a peculiar byproduct of the excretions the chitin of her drones produced every molting cycle.  She had some idea of what they did with it;  It had a similar use in banned and mostly forgotten dark potions for the temporary changing of form in other creatures.

Only, Humans didn't use magic.  They had a tantalizingly advanced technology, which was part of the motivation for liaising with them...  While they remained useful.

As she ruminated on the status of her relationship with the Human 'terrorists' known as the HLF, Chrysalis quietly strode the rock corridors of the central Hive.  She was over-Queen of the Changelings, and thus many Hives and hive Queens reported to her, but she had her own special Drones, and she even cared for them in her own peculiar way.

The corridors were mostly undecorated in the section she traversed;  Built swiftly and in utilitarian fashion out of a pressing need for space to handle refugees from recent Gryphon offensives.  The hated avians had begun to sense coming conflict, and had, in their usual modus operandi, pushed back against past incursions over their borders to establish pre-emptive cordons, reclaiming stadia of land that had been intended for the founding of two new Hives to handle overpopulation.

The assaults had been incredibly swift and brutal, but the irony was that there were just enough survivors each time to make their bedraggled return to the Empire an added burden on top of the loss in drone-power the twin slaughters had ended with.  She privately suspected the Gryphons had planned it that way all along.  They were no strangers to dirty tactics.

Chrysalis passed through the antechamber to her throne room;  A massive cavern that was as old as Equestria itself.  Over the millennia the rocks and crystals had been shaped and carved and inlaid until they had finally ended in a bizarre, ephemerally beautiful tangle of patterns and designs that repeated back on themselves in mind boggling ways.

The Room was filled to bursting with refugee Drones, huddled in groups on the cold stone under burlap scraps of cloth.

As she passed, the Queen could not help but share a tiny bit of the energy she had acquired from her recently concluded feed.  She not only pitied the Drones, but she needed them ready for work.  And battle.

At the end of the central cavern stood a pair of immense and intricately carved doors, fashioned from pure deep-rock obsidian that had itself formed in the fires of lava lakes miles below.

The Drones on guard pushed the giant portals inward, the immense slabs moving with utter silence and incredible ease on their frictionless, magic-infused hinges.

The throne room was as old as the central cavern, and just as ornately carved.  It was shaped vaguely like an arrowhead, as if those within were standing inside the upper half of a giant spear tip.

At the termination of the room, the tip, sat the Throne itself.  It was fashioned from a metal the like of which could be found nowhere else.  Whenever Chrysalis sat upon it, small lights, akin to mage lights but in no way magical, lit within the grooves and protrusions of its dark structure.  It seemed to almost come alive with an infrasonic thrum.

The Throne exhibited the behavior, as usual, when she ensconced her black chitinous flank within it.  She sighed, steeling herself for the usual bevy of bad reports and logistics nightmares that accompanied her work.

But the routine was not to be.

A female Drone scampered forward, green eyes glittering with excitement.  She knelt, and waited for Chrysalis' word.

"Arise.  What news?" Chrysalis tinged the words with just the right mixture of candor, abruptness, and reassurance.

The Drone twitched her dragonfly-like wings nervously, and spoke in a hushed tone, "Majesty.  They found her."

After a long pause, in-spite of herself, a grin split Chrysalis' muzzle.  She cackled in a low, thrumming tone, "Good.  Very good.  Prepare infiltrators.  We shall makes plans to return her to the Hive.  At once."

Chrysalis leaned back into her throne and murmured with satisfaction, "I shall broker no resistance.  Her knowledge shall be ours...  Her biological distinctiveness."





Darkness.  Not the familiar, comforting, blanket-like darkness of a starlit sky with its brilliant pinpricks offering comforting counterpoint to the light of a waxing moon.  No.  Darkness as if in a cavern.  Cloying.  Oppressive.  Dank.

Dead.

The world was dead.  She had killed it.  This hadn't been what she wanted!  Her hoof inscribed a slow, melancholy circle in the gray charred dust.  When had grass last grown on these fields?

She gazed up at the ruin of Canterlot.  Once magnificent towers strewn across the mountainside in utter ruin.  Mighty, seemingly impregnable granite and marble, shattered to dust like so much decayed cement.

"It's so...  Beautiful."

She started, crabbing to the side violently and swiveling her head right so sharply she felt tendons snap.

The voice came from a paradox.  Standing in stark contrast to the magnificent desolation that Equestria had become, was a Unicorn.  Her deep amaranthine coat was startlingly complimented by her even deeper navy mane, which shone as if it had become an impromptu refuge to the missing stars above.

She looked down at her little Pony, and noted her strange cutie mark.  Ankh.  A Symbol of one of Earth's ancient cultures.

The smiling Unicorn turned to face her, eyes seeming to drill into her soul, "And we have you to thank...  Don't we?"

"No..." She shook her head and took a halting step back, hoof clanging against something sharp and metallic.  She glanced down, then bent her muzzle closer.  The golden hoof guard, bent, twisted, and sullied by grit, seemed strangely familiar.

She noticed the inset sun symbol almost at the same time as she noticed the skeleton, and the rest of the buried regalia.  Two wings.  Four hooves.  A Horn.  A familiar brace-plate set with a fiery Amethyst.

"NO!"

The Unicorn smiled, her eyes seeming to light from behind with a preternatural red glow, "Oh *yes* Princess.  If only your sister could see you now.  *You* made this all possible."





"AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUGH!"

Luna's screech immediately drew the attention of her chamber guards.  With a familiar whisper of smoothed metal against marble floors, the two jet-black stallions entered;  Stone faced and tense, as per usual.

Luna shifted uncomfortably.  She had fallen asleep at her desk.  Again.

Night was supposed to be her time.  Her realm.  Yet an inability to sleep consistently, during day or night, had left her exhausted and stressed for nigh on a month.  She had begun to fear that she would not be able to keep the signs of her physical and mental degradation from her sister much longer.

Her sister.

The images of the dream came flooding back.  What had, seconds before, been a faceless nameless terror maddeningly nipping at the dim edges of memory, was now a horror so forceful, real, and present, that she felt a violent physical urge to vomit.

She sighed and gestured one still-armor-clad hoof at the guards, "Leave us.  We...  Allowed our frustration at our work to get the better of us.  It is no cause for concern."

She maintained a stiff, calm demeanor until the silver-laced doors to her chambers had once again swung shut.  Then she slumped, muzzle first, onto the desk.  And she wept.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
February 27th, Gregorian Calendar

The suited man was having what his subordinates might term an 'off day.'  It had started when he lost a pack of his very rare, very expensive real cigarettes down a storm drain.  It had culminated in reports of a new Gryphic military offensive making incursions into an HLF facility in Dubai.

Mr. Utah straightened his suit compulsively, and started on his fifth cigarette.  The habit was expensive.  Synth kelp was scarce enough that very little could be legally purchased for making non-consumables.  Cigarettes, whether left-over from before the Winnowing, or made from kelp and artificial additives, were something only the hyper-rich could afford to indulge in.  The current price per twelve-pack was eye-wateringly exorbitant.

Mr. Utah felt he needed the stress reduction of the nicotine-substitute however.  The Gryphons' declaration of war three years back had not been small potatoes.  Beyond mere involvement in the JRSF, they had begun sending full battalions of their warriors under their own banners to fight the HLF and the PER, kitted out in nightmare inducing combinations of Earthgov surplus gear, grey market purchases made with their own coin, and their own surprisingly durable and advanced native equipment.

Battalions that were increasingly outfitted with more Earth technology that not, to give them a further edge as corporations and local governments bought in to their initiatives.

The HLF had been attempting to maximize their advantages to stem the tide of recent crushing defeats.  The main tools at their disposal were their 'Gray Operatives' and their Augments.

The Grays were a benefit of their relationship with the 'Equestrian Benefactor,' but recently new forms of identity checking had diminished their value somewhat.

The Augments were their first, last, and best line of defense on the ground.

Just after the Winnowing, when all the plants and animals on the planet had died off catastrophically, Humanity had made an ill-advisedly swift foray into the field of biological cybernetic augmentation.

The results had been so horrifying, thanks to the alacrity with which caution and ethics were dispatched as central concerns, that the practice had been entirely outlawed except where it was absolutely necessary to save a life.

The advent of Conversion had even seen a massive dip in the allowed permissions for legitimate augmentation;  The government would not give even life saving technology to its own citizens, if there was any way in which they could accomplish the same salvation with Conversion, instead of the fear-inducing and much maligned process of bio-augmentation.

Soon enough, it seemed Earthgov might even begin to withhold standard lifesaving or life extending medical procedures.  Anything to bolster their desperate bid to boost Conversion rates.

Here, Mr. Utah reflected, the HLF's more 'pragmatic' viewpoint allowed them a foothold.

Unfettered by laws, ethics, or fears, augmentation had allowed them to produce soldiers that were up to half as effective as a Gryphon on the battlefield.  A massive achievement considering that a lone un-augmented but fully kitted Special Forces trained Marine was less than one-five-hundredth as lethal as any average Equestrian, let alone the predatory Gryphons.

But it wasn't enough.

Enrollment in the HLF had never been higher, but the Gryphons, and the JRSF as a whole, were starting to pull fewer punches and to adapt to existing Augments and their still-glaring flaws.

Mr. Utah watched through a five foot thick transparent aluminum wall, as a Phase-II Augment pulverized a holographic dummy.

The faceless soldier, and the gray-haired leader, were both starkly at odds with their environ;  The former clad in beige armor plating, the latter in a suit.  The hallway, and the combat laboratory, were mostly built of stark white biophobic plastic, lit harshly with fluorescent lumibars, and trimmed with insistent yellow warning stripes.

Mr. Utah watched, smoke wreathing his head lazily, as the soldier brought his incredible strength to bear.  Phase-IIs were actually stronger and more durable overall than Gryphons, approaching the resilience and striking power of Diamond Dogs.  Their main weakness lay in their catastrophic lack of speed and agility.

A Phase-II rated several hundred points lower for agility than even a Diamond Dog Troll in base-line combat scores, making it easy for the unparalleled, seemingly paranormal agility and thought-speed of the Gryphons to negate the other advantages of an Augment in equal-numbers combat.

Against Ponies and Diamond Dogs they fared somewhat better, but once a Pony was riled they often had hidden strengths that were difficult to account for.  Pegasi had straight-line speed approaching that of military aircraft.  Unicorn magic was damnably unpredictable.  Earth Ponies...  Well...  Their 'buck' could hit with enough force to shatter even a teryllium/carbon-alloy chest plate.

In the test chamber, the hologram finally got the better of the training soldier, penetrating the weak neck plating of his suit with a simulated ethereal sword.

Mr. Utah sighed in mild exasperation, and took a long pull on his cigarette.

"Do you see the potential?"

The voice came from behind.  Mr. Utah recognized it and acknowledged with a slight nod, "Potential, yes.  Bringing it out, however, seems...  Elusive."

The newcomer, an older man in a white lab coat that matched the surroundings perfectly, stepped forward to stand beside his suited compatriot, "Mr. Utah."

"Doctor Omaha."

The men shared a 'Section' in the HLF Cabinet.  Each section had a unique purpose, based upon where its tenets were drawn from.  Each section also shared a subset of related World War II based codenames.

Mr. Utah and Dr. Omaha hailed from Normandy section.  As such they were both associated with large corporations in some way.  Mr. Utah held a high level corporate position, Dr. Omaha on the other hand was a chief scientist for a large, and growing biomedical firm.

During the incident with Gryphonization several years prior, the JRSF had raided and subsequently dismantled one of the world's largest biomedical firms due to its sub rosa involvement with the PER.  The action had been a boon to the HLF, since it not only crippled the PER's Ponification Serum, or 'Potion,' production capabilities for a time, but it also brought startlingly large amounts of new business to Dr. Omaha's company.

The money and the connections were both invaluable to the HLF.

"I presume I was called here to see more than a mere demonstration of Phase-II's failings," Mr. Utah's tone made it clear that the sentence was neither threat, nor question, but simple and firm expectation.

The stone-faced scientists nodded once, with conviction. As he spoke a wiry, tall, armor clad figure stepped into the combat chamber, "You were called here because within the month, Phase-II will be obsolete."

As he watched a very different set of events unfold in the test area, Mr. Utah took another, much more satisfied puff on his cigarette.  The light from simulated weapons played menacingly on the creases of his face, accented by the smoke.

He smiled.  A twisted expression of mildly repressed glee for the macabre that would have put a shark to shame. 

"Tell me more."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 1st, Gregorian Calendar

Commander Aston liked train stations.  The thrum of high powered magnets, footsteps, and thousands of voices, made her feel connected to the world in a meaningful and almost relaxing fashion.

It helped that, no matter how advanced they became, trains never seemed to lose their romantic appeal.  Not even maglevs.

"Stealing a breather?"

Aston spared only a short glance over her shoulder, before smirking and returning her gaze to the crowds on the platform, "Stealing?  No no *this* is collecting *interest* on the month of sleep we're about to lose."

The owner of the querying voice, Hutch, slumped wearily onto the bench beside her, "In all fairness, the hard part is only just starting for you.  I've already spent the last two weeks losing plenty of shut-eye over the fallout this is generating."

Aston sighed deeply and rubbed at her eyes, her voice dropping to a more serious tone, "It's like a nightmare.  Just thinking about it makes my head hurt badly enough to need an ice pack."

She stared as one of the trains began to move, only the slightest of hums accompanying the mammoth electromagnetic forces that gave it motive power.

"Twenty million people.  How are we supposed to move twenty *million* people in a month?  How did it even come to this?"

Hutch leaned back into the ergonomic plastic of the bench, crossed his arms, and gazed at the arching buttresses that supported the all-plexiglass ceiling, seventy feet above, "Well...  For all our drive and ingenuity we are a damnably stubborn lot.  I think people try to forget about this mess because they don't want the loss of this city to become real.  If it becomes real, then the *whole* mess is real, and no one can afford to put things off indefinitely anymore."

Aston smiled wanly, and stared off into the middle-distance, "For a race of pioneers and inventors, we certainly like to put things off."

Hutch raised an eyebrow, "Well after a few years in this job, I can confidently say that I've learned some of the commonalities and differences of the races.  Let me tell you;  Doesn't matter the size, disposition, drive to improve, or lack thereof...  We all get sentimental about certain things.  Even the Diamond Dogs."

The pair sat in silence for five minutes, enjoying each others' company, and watching the bustle on the platforms before them.  

Their reverie was abruptly put to an end by the public address system, "Evacuation Train twelve now departing platform two.  All citizens in Evacuation Group Alpha-77, please report to platform eight for boarding of trains thirteen and fourteen."

As the PA system followed up by chiming the hour, Aston rose, and stretched, groaning, "Well.  I guess it's crunch time again."

As Hutch and Aston separated to their posts, the sky above was split by the whine of a dozen turbine engines.  VTOLs and transport airships began to depart the city in a seemingly never-ending stream, filling the skies to the point that it was impossible to find an entirely clear patch of the expanse.

Over the course of a few hours every maglev line, and major roadway, was repurposed to act as an outbound artery.  Only smaller rip-tracks, maintenance routes, and two-lane roads were allowed to handle specially permitted ingress traffic.

Slowly but steadily, gaining momentum like the monstrous wheeled freight trains of old, the outflow of citizens began to gain traction.

Ships departed the Navy-secured southern corridors of the harbor, bound for the safer shores of the Carolinas.  Equestrian newfoal transports sailed directly into and out of the port, for the first time.

Everywhere throughout the city, and its far flung boroughs, signs trumpeted the message.  Internet terminals replaced their daily login message.  The Wall Street Ticker was pre-empted.  Times Square was, for once, without corporate advertisements.

Even the digital signage attached to trains and other public transport displayed the messages.

"Hazard Zone Warning!"

"Proceed To Evacuation Points."

"Do *You* Have an Evacuation Plan?"












> Chapter 1
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Third Day, Celestial Calendar

'Seedy.'  That was the first word Stanley Carradan could think of to describe the establishment.  The floors were oaken planks, stained with countless spills and worn so smooth by the passage of paws, claws, and hooves, that multiple inches of the original surfacing had been lost.

The walls, mostly comprised of the unfinished inner side of the logs that made up the structure, were illumined only by the guttering light of a few ill-placed and poorly maintained plant oil lamps.

The class of person that made up the majority of the patronage more or less mirrored the disheveled aesthetic of the structure.  As a result, the smell of garlic, unwashed fur, sizzling meat, and alcohol permeated the space, tinged at times with the faintest whiff of Poison Joke smoke. 

To top it off, the ale was rough, strong, and terribly bitter.

Carradan smiled, and mumbled, "My kind-'a bar."

The salmon toned Pegasus ruffled his wings, and blew a wisp of teal mane from his face.  Reporter's instinct kept his gaze moving, never once settling, as he strode slowly to the bar counter.  By the time he had arrived, he had sized up every single one of his fellow patrons.

Here a down-on-his-luck Diamond Dog Vulpine miner, there an irritated Minotaur mercenary.  In the back corner, a small pack of Diamond Dog Trolls who looked lost in macabre conversation, judging by the wicked grins on their grimy muzzles.

That left a few more assorted Trolls, one of whom was seated on the stool beside the one Carradan was opting for, and finally a Buffalo who looked to be drunk well beyond the ken of rationality, or even basic motor control.

Carradan offered the inebriated creature a small smile as he passed, "Hi.  How ya doin."  There was no response, beyond a small sound that might have been a hiccup.

He ensconced his flank on the stool next to the Troll, and fished a pair of five-bit coins from his saddle bags, "Ale if'n you please, and lotsa salt cubes to go with it."

Wordlessly the barkeep, a grizzled looking male Zebra, scooped up the golden discs from the stone surface, and turned to the taps.  Carradan glanced sideways at his neighbor.  The Troll looked to be young;  Just barely into his adult phase, which likely placed him in the lowly station of kappa, or lambda in his pack.

With interest Carradan noted the plethora of overturned glasses and mugs surrounding the young Diamond Dog.  Most Trolls in this region were miners, or part-time mercenaries.  They certainly did not make enough, on average, for a lowly kappa to indulge in such a profusion of pleasurable beverages.

Casting another carefully timed glance as the barkeep returned with his ale, and a small dish of salt cubes, Carradan noted that the kappa bore a similar shoulder tattoo to the pack of Trolls he had seen in the corner on his way in.

That, combined with the Troll's unusual display of recent monetary gains, meant he was the reason Carradan was there.  The Pegasus smiled into his ale glass as he took a deep draught.  He had faced plenty of trouble in the course of his life, but he was a firm believer that a touch of proverbial liquid courage was an indispensable advantage for such occasions.

He took an exploratory nibble of his first salt cube, then offered his compatriot patron a deliberate sideways smile, "Had a good run eh?"

The Troll belched loudly, slammed down another empty glass, and nodded with a lopsided grin.  The gesture exposed several ugly yellow teeth, and Carradan had to brace himself to keep from recoiling at the creature's abhorrent breath.

The Pegasus forced himself to keep grinning, and raised his mug with a hoof, "Well here's to uncommon success then eh?"

The Troll snatched a mug from the Zebra's muzzle as he passed, and slammed it into Carradan's proffered toast with such force that the reporter feared both glasses would shatter.

Stan took a reserved sip from his mug.  The Troll, on the other hoof, bolted down his entire mug in a single swift draught, slamming the vessel back into the bar with such force that the base of the glass did indeed chip.

Carradan spent several moments indulging in his first salt cube, then made another attempt to invigorate the conversation, "So...  Struck good mining prospects then?  I thought all the good gems had been pulled out o' these mines a while back."

The Troll grunted, "Gems no'fing.  Mining stupid job here.  We gerr paid ten times as much as dem silly miners."

Carradan cocked his head, turning on his reporter's charm at maximum, feigning curiosity worthy of an Oscar, "So...  Ahhh... 
What'd a Pegasus like me have to do to find work like *that* in these parts?"

The Troll grunted a second time, and gestured to the Zebra, who glared, but acquiesced when he noticed the goose-egg sized ruby clasped in the Diamond Dog's paw. 

"I not 'fink you cut out for dat sort of work little Pony.  Go back to cloud-bucking or some'fing."

Stan took a deliberately large gulp of his ale, and let out his own belch, "Well what if I *was* cut out for somethin' that pays a bit better than weather work?"

The response came with a snort, "Well 'den I still f'ink..." the Troll paused to hiccup loudly, "...F'ink you stupid for asking.  Little Pony wouldn't like our employers.  Not the kind of work 'er majesty is appro'fing of."

Carradan allowed the conversation to lull temporarily, and finished his first salt cube.  He cast a surreptitious glance over one shoulder, and noted that the Trolls in the back of the room had ceased their raucous conversation, and were now murmuring in low voices, their gaze firmly fixed on their wayward Kappa...  And the Pegasus beside him.

Stan turned casually back to the bar, and sighed.  He was running out of time and options. 
"So what if I didn't much care for her majesty's approval?"

The Troll glared, "Den we still wouldn't tell you who we work for.  Not Little Pony's business.  Go back to cloud bucking."

Carradan squinted his eyes shut in a mixture of frustration and trepidation, murmuring rapidly under his breath.  He inhaled deeply, then tossed a hoof around the Troll's shoulder.  He could feel the creature's muscle stiffen;  Steel cords pulled taut, driven by unimaginable power.

The Pegasus leaned in conspiratorially, "Listen brother...  I didn't come all the way out here to the seedy-flank, grimy-plot underbelly of these dreary mountains, just to spend my time hauling gems for miners.  I came here to score.  You know something I wanna know and brother?  I always get what I want...  You savvy?"

The response took on a menacing undertone, and Carradan could feel the vibrations of a deep-throated growl welling up through the canine, "Little Pony is goink to take his prissy pink hoof off.  Nao."

Carradan sighed, and removed the offending limb, bowing his head in apparent sullen defeat, "Pal..."

The Diamond Dog looked up just in time for Carradan's hoof to connect with his muzzle, driven by all the force the Pegasus could muster.  The blow had been unexpected, and the Diamond Dog was more than slightly drunk.

The Troll flew backwards, head smashing into the bar with a loud crack, and rebounding into the Buffalo beside him, causing the latter to spill his ale all over the pair.

Carradan swiftly downed the last of his ale, "...Nobody calls me pink.  You get me fuzzball?"

The Pegasus hopped down from the stool, and marched forward to the tangle that was the Troll and the inebriated Buffalo, "Now.  Let's talk about who you work for shall---"  Carradan was interrupted by a shuffling sound.

He turned to see the other member of the pack, all ten of them, clustered around him.  The last of his truncated sentence came out as a squeak, "...we?"

The Alpha stepped forward.  He was clearly the Alpha judging by his expensive steel armor plating, large well polished war axe, hulking build, and commanding demeanor.  His voice was like iron against a sharpening stone, "Little Pegasus was foolish.  To attack one Dog is to attack the Pack.  And Pink Pony is all alone."

Carradan stiffened, then cocked his head, this time in genuine curiosity, "Whatever gave you the idea I was alone?"

A slight whistle caused the Alpha to begin to turn his head.  But as soon as the motion had begun, it was reversed with a resounding 'THUNK!'  The Alpha's head twisted completely in the opposite direction, teeth and blood-soaked fur flying from his collapsed jaw.

The offending seventy pound, iron cored, steel plated Morningstar was withdrawn, pulling all eyes towards its owner.  A fierce looking golden Gryphon with brown markings around his eyes.  He calmly stepped forward and offered the bloodied Alpha a deadpan glance, "As I recall, he told you not to call him pink."

The Gryphon offered the Pegasus a nod, "Stanley."

"Varan.  Fancy meeting you here."

Varan nodded once at the Kappa, who had finally struggled to his paws, "Get anything from him?"

Carradan shook his head, "Drunk, stubborn, stupid...  And suffering a wicked case of halitosis, let me tell you."

Varan nodded, "Ah.  Then this will have to proceed the simpler way."  The Gryphon raised his Morningstar, and glanced at the circle of growling, shuffling Diamond Dogs.  Patrons were quickly vacating the tavern, and those who weren't, mostly Diamond Dogs themselves, were slowly taking up supporting positions behind the Trolls.

"Which of you would like to go first?"

The Beta turned from helping the Alpha to his paws, and strode directly up to Varan, glaring into the flaming seas of his golden eyes with an unusual lack of trepidation, "Gryphon would be wise to leave little Pony to us, and go.  We might even let Gryphon keep his wings."

Varan nodded, "You first then.  Excellent."

The Diamond Dog raised his weapon, a vicious looking pole-arm, to block an expected blow from Varan.  But it never came.  Instead there was a soft 'whoosh' followed by a wet 'THWOK.'

The Beta stood in confusion for several seconds, before managing to cross his eyes and get a glance at the huge arrow buried firmly between his occipital lobes.  Wordlessly, he keeled over backwards, dead before he hit the floor.

Stan sighed and gestured with a hoof, "He should have worn a helmet."

"At least this way he has both eyes intact for the funeral."

The owner of the new voice stepped calmly down the stairs at the back of the room, moving on two legs as Gryphons were sometimes wont to do.  The fiery red avian had a large sword at his back, gleaming sleek armor on his body, and carried a huge compound bow.  

He had already nocked another arrow to the wound-steel cables.

His voice was even and measured, with a small hint of amused deadpan coloring the inflections, "Hello.  I'm Fyrenn.  I'd very much like for you mangy, mongrel, stinky, unwashed, gem-snorting curs to take a few steps back, and let my brother and his friend get what they need from your Kappa."

Fyrenn pulled the arrow slightly more taut, creating a menacing twang in the bow's strings, "We are *not* interested in taking no for an answer.  And I have a powerful urge to shoot something else, so I will *not* be disappointed if you want to test your luck."

The Alpha, finally having regained some balance, roared and lunged at Varan, axe descending like a glittering arc of chain lightning.  Varan smoothly stepped aside, moving so fast that only Fyrenn's eyes could even register the change immediately.

The Alpha's Axe crashed into the bar, splitting the stone surface neatly in half, and leaving him well exposed to Stan, who laid into his ribcage with both hooves.  The blow left the canine stunned more than long enough for Varan's Morningstar to find its target once more.

As the weapon came away, it was made abundantly clear that the first blow had been a mere warning;  The most obvious sign being the fact that half of the now-dead Troll's skull came away with the blood-soaked mace.

Fyrenn grinned manically, "Alright then." 

Without further warning he loosed his arrow into the pause that followed, felling an opportunistic Vulpine who had been fingering a set of wicked looking throwing knives.

The arrow was like the starting flag of a race.
All hell quite promptly broke loose.





The Creaking Pines Tavern, despite its run-down aesthetic, was well placed and frequently did good business.  

Situated at the juncture of four major roads and mountain passes, several of which led to mines, and one of which led to a railroad station, it was the last example of civilization one would encounter travelling North-East of the Equestrian Nation.  

The next closest substitute for 'civilization' came when one arrived at the outskirts of the Diamond Dog mining settlements of the region.

The area had a reputation for being rough;  It rained, snowed, sleeted, or fogged more days of the year than it was clear, by a margin of five to one.  

The Diamond Dog mining clans had fallen to dirty tactics to secure the dwindling gold and gem reserves of the mountains, the Gryphons to the east occasionally stepped in if anything became too violent, and even the Changelings occasionally took mines by surprise to get at stores of crystals.

There was no law, short of the might a pack could leverage, or the swift and harsh instant justice marauding Gryphons often visited upon murderers, thieves, abusers, and Changelings when they randomly swept through.

Named for the pine logs it was built from, and the many surrounding trees of the self-same species, the Tavern had remained a fixture of the crossroads for nigh on a century.

The typical fog-laden silence of the paddock laid out before the building was abruptly shattered.

A hulking Diamond Dog, entangled with a drunken buffalo, came careening through the front window.  The pair tumbled head over hooves and paws, glittering shards of glass spiraling through the air around them.

The rest of the fight followed swiftly;  Fyrenn, Varan and Stan driven before a horde of furious Trolls, and a few assorted supporting Lupines and Vulpines.

The latter were less concerned with the slight the friends had paid to the Troll pack, and more interested in simply taking out their vindictive racial hatred for Gryphons and their kith.  

Most Lupines and Vulpines were actually on good terms with the avians, but more than a few of the loners, and less reputable small packs, resented the forceful administration of justice the winged guardians were fond of dispensing.

Stan, being almost as brittle of bone as the Gryphons, and not as muscularly strong as an Earth Pony, helped himself to the added dimension their air afforded him.  

He adopted his usual strategy;  Wait for Varan to distract a pair of enemies, then abruptly assault one from the rear by flying high, then stooping at his maximum speed and impacting hooves first.  

Since he was a Pegasus, that velocity approached Mach 1.5 in a magic rich environ, and Carradan was a stocky example of his species.  The impact would, if it didn't instantly kill or maim the target, keep it busy while the Gryphon eliminated the second hostile.

Varan, for his part, was a terrifying whirling dervish of high-impact lethality.  His wings also afforded him access to the sky, but in exchange for lower straight line speeds his Gryphic agility was several orders of magnitude higher than a Pegasus.  

Combined with the rate at which his avian brain could process events, and the incredible muscular flexibility of Gryphons, he could deal death with precise blows, to indefensible areas, at a high rate of speed, while dodging multiple incoming strikes.

Fyrenn was similarly engaged, but in an even faster style, using hidden blades in his bow as close-in melee weapons to support his claws, squeezing off longer range shots whenever he had an opening, and dancing upward out of enemies' ranges as soon as they rounded on him.

In the three years since his Conversion, Fyrenn had learned a great deal about Gryphic combat disciplines.  His position as a Knight placed him firmly within the Alarians;  Warriors equipped with light, foldable bows and the more oft favored long-sword, but over time he had been picking up Sagittarian techniques too, learning to wield arbalests and shorter blades.

Despite the Gryphons' obvious prowess, which far outstripped the blunt, untrained, flailing style of the Diamond Dogs, the battle was slowly beginning to turn against them.  Diamond Dogs, though slow and inflexible, were incredibly tough creatures.  And the Trolls alone outnumbered the friends by over four to one.

Fyrenn dodged a particularly fierce blow, and twirled the lower end of his bow, the hidden blade snapping out and finding a path thru a weakness in the offending Lupine's armor.  The blow didn't immediately kill the Diamond Dog, but it bought Fyrenn the time to spin the weapon in reverse and bury the second blade in the canine's skull.

The Gryphon ducked under an incoming pole-arm, leaving his bow behind temporarily, and gutted the offender with his bare claws.  His opponents were making rookie mistakes, but the sheer profusion of them was beginning to wear on him.

He spun up and over the newly made carcass, and drew his sword.  As much as he loved the unconventional modifications his bow afforded, Fyrenn felt most at-home with a sword in his claws when fighting at close range.

He flipped, sliced an enemy's head open with the tip of the weapon, rolled, and came down hard with his wings flared, knocking back two assailants who were pressing hard on Varan's defenses, even as his brother called out to him.

"We can not sustain this indefinitely."

Fyrenn shrugged, "If we have to retreat, then we have to.  We can always snipe for a bit."

As if somehow in response to the words, a pair of Trolls wheeled a large contraption out the doors of the tavern, and began locking wooden struts into place.

Fyrenn recognized it as a badly made, but still lethal copy of a Gryphic weapon.  
A repeating heavy arbalest.

Stan shouted out from above, "I take it that's a bad sign?"

Varan grunted as he cleaved an offending Troll's arm off, "That is an understatement."

Both Gryphons took to the air quickly, dodging and weaving like mad creatures as the pair of Trolls worked the fast-fire weapon, trying desperately to get up enough fire rate with the hand-cranked repeater mechanism to present a threat to their more nimble foes.

While Varan held back, and tried to draw fire away from Carradan, Fyrenn dove straight for the weapon at an oblique angle.  He cannoned into the crank operator, taking her by surprise and plunging his sword all the way through the neck joint of her armor.

As she fell, he reached out with his free claw and snagged his bow from the Lupine carcass he had left it in.  He tossed his sword skyward, swiftly yanked an arrow from the quiver, nocked, fired, then twirled the bow into the chest of the arbalest's operator just as the arrow impacted an enemy across the paddock.

By the time the next Troll had arrived to assault him, the sword was already on its return trip.  Fyrenn neatly caught the weapon, and began using it in tandem with his bow, to throw his enemies off balance.

Unfortunately his tactic had drawn the attention of *all* the remaining enemies, and they had abandoned pursuit of Varan and Stanley, to focus entirely on the red Gryphon.

Fyrenn decided to break out every weapon in his arsenal.  Every Gryphon Knight's armor was made uniquely to their specifications.  Fyrenn had insisted on the addition of spring-loaded hidden blades in the greaves, gauntlets, and wing-joint guards.

As he struck, or defended with the plates, the lethal serrated edges would pop out and sever limbs, bisect arteries, and damage armor.

At first, the presence of the seemingly invisible killing force gave his foes pause.  But they rapidly learned which parts of the armor were lethal, and began to adapt.

Gryphic armor was designed for maximum agility.  While it was excellent protection given its light nature, it simply could not compare to heavy armor in terms of sheer deflection, and left many areas unprotected.

As four particularly meaty Trolls closed in, and a pair of Vulpines took over the arbalest, Fyrenn began to feel nervous.

That was when the first quarrel appeared in the nearest Troll's throat.  The fracas continued for several seconds unabated, until the Diamond Dog's compatriots finally noticed the three inch thick, two foot long, solid steel projectile buried in their Beta's throat.

All motion ceased.  All eyes turned.

On the roof of the tavern, Into the golden light of the sunset, stepped a black and white speckled Gryphon.  A black and white speckled Gryphon wielding a massive Sagittar Arbalest, with a fresh quarrel already in the trough.

The Gryphon shouted, his powerful throat sending the sound loudly and clearly through his yellow beak, "Attention ass-hoels!  You are all at my mercy.  I can hit a speck the size of the head of a pin, at five miles out and two miles up.  I can reload this weapon in the time it takes you mongrels to blink.  And these are solid steel armor-piercing quarrels with flaring tips that will rip your organs to shreds.  Go back inside and lie down on the floor, or I will blow new holes in every single one of your little skulls."

For an incredibly tense moment, no one spoke and no one moved.

Fyrenn had just begun to think that they would have to kill every last one of their foes indeed, when the first Troll sullenly broke ranks, and obediently moved back into the Tavern.  The action was like the opening of a floodgate;  The anger-fueled blood-rage of the canines melted just as quickly as it had arisen.  It was backed only by fury, no real courage.  Seeing the carcasses of their fallen packmates, they had abruptly lost the desire to value valor above discretion.

Fyrenn smirked, and sheathed his sword, carefully collapsing his bow as Carradan and Varan rejoined him.  Stan glared up at the speckled Gryphon on the roof good naturedly, "Kephic! What the flamin' buckin' HELL were you doin'? Stopping for coffee?"

Kephic calmly glided down to join his brothers, and the Pegasus, "I was...  Detained by a party of re-enforcements."  He paused and glanced between Varan and Fyrenn, smiling,  "There are no more reinforcements.  In case anyone was curious."

Fyrenn chuckled, "And for reference, brother, its 'assholes'  not 'ass-hoels.'  Holes like holes in the ground, not hoels like hoes with an l.  If you're going to swear in Terran, do it properly."

Varan shook his head and rolled his eyes, "Semantics aside;  We still need to acquire what we came here for."

Kephic groaned, "I suppose we'll have to search this stinking lot then?"

Carradan grinned wickedly, "Nope.  I got what we came for right here."  The Pegasus deftly withdrew a small dirty piece of cloth from the joint between his left wing and shoulder.  He tossed it to Fyrenn, who unfolded it, and snorted in amusement, "How did you get this?"

"Pulled it off the Kappa during the start of the scrum.  That was the whole point."

Varan glared, "Why did you not say anything after you had secured it?"

"Would it have mattered?"

Kephic chuckled, "Excellent point.  Is it all there?"

Fyrenn nodded, and held up the small, ill proportioned map, "The rendezvous is marked.  Dumb mutt probably couldn't remember it without the map."

Varan smiled, a terrifying expression, "So where are we going?"

Fyrenn pointed to a small 'x' on the fabric, "West."

As he unfurled his wings, Carradan cocked his head, "And when we get there?"

Kephic clapped the Pegasus on the back, and spread his own flight appendages, "We do what we do best.  Wreck everything in sight."





Celestia hesitated.  She had knocked once already, and she did not wish to disturb her sister if she was asleep.  Despite Luna's attempts to hide the signs, Celestia knew she had not been getting as much rest as she needed.

The Solar Monarch was about to depart, and find some other use for her free half-hour, when the doors finally opened.  Luna looked fairly rested on first glance, but closer inspection revealed small, nigh imperceptible signs of exhaustion.

Celestia had to work to keep her expression normal.  She wanted to engulf her sister in both wings and rock her to sleep.  But Luna was too proud for that.  She had begun to feel coddled recently, and desperately desired to be trusted as an equal.  So Celestia trusted her, opting to give her support in a more subtle fashion.

"Still up at this hour?"  Celestia stepped slowly into her sister's office, eyes carefully ranging over each item in the room for clues to Luna's state of mind.

Luna nodded and returned to her desk.  Her horn flared, and magical aura surrounded a pen, and several sheafs of paper, as she returned to the previous subject of her attention, "It is no small thing for you to make one of these trips sister.  Especially at a time like this.  There is much preparatory work to be done."

Celestia sighed as she stepped to the window, noting by its covering of dust that the telescope her sibling was normally so fond of had not been touched for weeks, "Unfortunately it is times like this when my presence is most needed on Earth.  Many lives are being endangered by the childish politics that seem to have taken over of late, and those who still side with us need all the leverage on public opinion that they can muster."

"I understand..."  Luna's pen scratched away at the reed-parchment, walnut ink flowing from the quill's tip at a voluminous rate, "I was simply noting that the circumstances here bear equal concern."

"Which is why I think this is for the best,"  Celestia ambled over to the desk, and waited until her sister set down her writing implements, "You are better suited to issues of war, political strife, and the gathering of intelligence than I am.  I have no doubt you sense the coming storm even more keenly than I do."

Luna rose from her haunches, and stared absently out the window, "War *will* come to us.  Make no mistake.  I sense the stirrings as surely as the changing of the seasons."

Celestia stiffened, ever-so-slightly, and raised an eyebrow, "War?  Outright?"

The Lunar ruler continued unabated, shuffling papers and taking notes as she went, not even stopping to look up, "Diamond Dog mercenaries, emboldened by an anonymous sponsor, press against the Gryphons' southern borders.  Large contingents of Changeling Drones have been purportedly seen in the north-east mountain passes..."

Luna finally paused, and locked eyes with her older sister, "And rumors speak of darker things further to the north.  Whispers of a faceless, nameless terror that slowly encroaches on warmer climes each night, moving under cover of darkness.  The same terror which we already know to be absolutely real, not mere ghost stories for the frightening of foals. 
The world is poised upon the brink.  Conflict is inevitable."

"All the more reason for you to be left in charge.  With the separation of the barrier, anyone appealing your decisions to me will face difficulties.  I can ensure such stalling moves could be made even more trying for any party interested in contradicting your judgement."

Celestia did her best to convey reassurance in her expression, and tone, as she continued, "I have little love of war and its vulgarities.  But I believe I have the wisdom to not only know when I am ill suited to a task, but to know when to apportion it to one better suited to it.  You will do far better things for our Little Ponies than I ever could in this crisis."

"Art thou sure they sentimentality hast not got the better of thee?"  There was just enough of a playful trill to the words, and the tiniest hint of an upward curl to Luna's muzzle, to convey the humor.

Celestia turned to face the balcony, smiling.  The golden radiance of her sun bathed her fur in a comforting warm light. She closed her eyes and murmured softly.

"Aye.  Sentimental tho we be."
> Chapter 2
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 2nd, Gregorian Calendar

"Mind the Gap.  The next train is for Trimms Green.  This station is Heron Quays.  Change here for the Waterfront Line, Elizabeth Line, Greenwich Hydrofoil, and other Docklands Light Maglev Trains.  Disembark for Heron Quays docks, and heliport.  Mind the Gap"

John Odie hated London weather.  He had only been living in the UK zone for a year, and already he was doing his best to arrange to move somewhere warmer, and less prone to frigid deluges of mildly toxic rain.

He glared at the maglev trench below the platform and huffed.  He hated the transport station AI's voice even more than the rain.  It was terribly...  British.

Odie was a North-Amerizone native, and had one asked his previous neighbors about him, they would have likely denied knowing him as anything more than the village idiot.  He had made a name for himself in his small Oregon settlement.  A bad one.

Moving to the UK had been a half-baked attempt at escaping potential charges after his last and greatest run-in with the Military Police.  But none of that mattered anymore.  Soon he would be in Southern Italy, and he could get back to his favorite pastime;  Taking advantage of everyone he met to make a quick credit.

His reveries on the past, and future, were abruptly cut short as the train arrived, heralded by a melodic trill from platform-embedded speakers, and the hiss of rain being deflected off the pressure wave of the vehicle's passage.

The doors snapped open, and Odie shouldered his way in, not even bothering to wait for those trying to disembark.  He helped himself to a seat, and snorted, staring up at a screen embedded above the opposite window that had been set to a news feed.

"This is Heron Quays.  This is a Docklands Light Maglev train bound for Trimms Green.  Please stand clear of the doors."

Odie winced, and tried to ignore the voice, and the chatter around him, as the train silently accelerated away from the platform.  He passed the trip in silence, wishing everyone else on the train would just melt through the floor and seep into the magnet compartments.  Especially the Ponies.

Their cheerfulness was a damnably irritating contrast against the gray sky, gray buildings, and Odie's gray mood.  He hated contrasts.

"The next station is;  Canary Wharf.  Change for the Jubilee and Waterfront Underground lines, national maglev services, and city busses.  Disembark for the Canary Wharf financial plaza, mall, and docks."

The train glided to a halt, the doors popped open, and the crowd began to file out.  Canary Wharf was a major exit point in the morning, and few people were getting on to replace the departing passengers.  Odie stretched as the seat beside him was vacated.  In so doing, he noticed that the occupant had left his backpack behind.

It was an unassuming little scrap of fabric.  Black, misshapen, and utterly ordinary.

"This is;  Canary Wharf.  Change here for the Jubilee and Waterfront Underground lines, national maglev services, and city busses.  Disembark for the Canary Wharf financial plaza, mall, and docks."

Odie glanced around and tensed.  Aside from a few humans buried in their DaTabs, an older Earth Pony in a rear corner, and two Unicorns facing the doors, there was no one else in the car.  No one was facing him, or seemed to be paying any mind to the unattended luggage that was now so tantalizingly close.

Just peeking wasn't a crime, he reflected gleefully, as he silently endeavored to unzip the backpack without drawing notice.  The moment the fabric fell away he wished that he'd simply gotten off at the wharf.

"This is a Docklands Light Maglev train bound for Trimms Green.  Please stand clear of the doors."

Odie balked, scrambling from his seat.  The backpack tipped over, as his attempts to disentangle his proverbial sticky fingers failed miserably.  There was a loud metallic clank, and a silver cylinder rolled across the beige floor of the car, purple lights flickering regularly in time with a soft,  insistent, accelerating beep.

All eyes, Human and Equine alike, fixed firmly on the device.  There was a solitary instant of frozen deadlock as fight and flight vied for control of the passengers.  Odie was the first to determine that discretion was the better part of valor, but by then it was too late.  

The doors snapped shut with the innocuous hiss of hydraulics, and the train's magnetic motors began to spool up, their AI driver blissfully unaware of the unfolding catastrophe in the carriage.

Had anyone on the Canary Wharf platform been paying attention to the departing train, they might have just managed to glimpse a screaming, dirty, poorly shaven face pressed against the glass of car three's doors, before it was engulfed in a cloud of noxious purple gas.





London's subsurface tunnel network was one of the most extensive on Earth.  Rivaled only by similar warrens in New York, Moscow, Paris, Rome, and Shanghai, it still dwarfed all but the original Catacombs for sheer size and mystique.

The passages ranged from massive four-track maglev tunnels near the surface, to tiny single-person pre-Winnowing passages.  Some were as old as the middle ages, some had been built during the World Wars, and some were begun as part of a dearth of unfinished construction projects from the city's colorful past.  Never finished, and never charted.

But the majority of the the tunnels, by volume, belonged to the Underground.  Once an electrified third-rail subway, it had since been converted to a high-speed monorail configuration, and vastly expanded.

Even within the train tubes alone one could easily become lost.  Workers had to be equipped with network-connected DaTabs, loaded with maps and RFID trackers, to avoid becoming permanently marooned in the writhing techno-mechanical wasteland.

Even in the rare cases where such devices malfunctioned, the AI that controlled the trains were networked to a host of sensors, cameras, and microphones.  Most workers were smart enough to approach the nearest one, and put in a call for help.  Rescue times were usually under an hour.

Yet there were still areas of the tube that were without surveillance.  Blind spots in the network.  Old maintenance junctures, and rip-tracks, that were charted but not directly monitored, aside from basic integrity sensors within the rail itself.

Whenever a train's internal sensors detected a contaminant, the protocol was for the internal AI to register the hazard, then direct the train to a siding for servicing.  

Train 18593217-A; a Docklands Light Maglev unit, was occupying one such track.  According to the manifest that track-control AI had access to, the unit was empty and had been sidelined due to a simple magnetic induction coil malfunction at Heron Quays.

The train sat, idling, within a small junction of maglev trench, tucked away deep below the Thames, between two service tunnels and an Underground tube.

Orange warning lights pulsed, illuminating the duracrete of the walls at regular intervals.  The Train's AI projected a constant warning through external speakers,  "Warning.  Bio-hazardous Contaminants detected.  Train Sealed.  Quarantine in Effect.  Train in Need of Servicing.  Quarantine in Effect."

Under normal circumstances control-AI would have dispatched a hazmat team the instant the train's internal sensors registered a biological attack.  But the train had, instead, registered that it was empty of passengers, and that it was malfunctioning.  Control-AI had apportioned it a rip-track, and filed a maintenance request.

Despite the fact that the onboard AI knew the vehicle was contaminated, it could not send the information along.  The same device that had released the biological hazard had jammed and replaced its transmissions to track control.

So the train waited in deadlock.  Exactly as intended.





It wasn't the hiss of the doors, nor the resounding klaxon.  It wasn't even the thump of hooves.  It was the AI's voice that pulled Odie from unconsciousness, "Warning.  Bio-hazardous Contaminants detected.  Train Sealed.  Quarantine in Effect.  Train in Need of Servicing.  Quarantine in Effect."

Everything felt wrong.  His head hurt, his eyes didn't seem to want to focus, and his arms wouldn't move.  The latter realization generated a rising sense of panic, that helped him to partially focus his vision, and hearing.

"...an you hear me?  Are you awake yet? You have to wake up! They'll be here soon!"

Odie grunted, "Mmmph! Who..? What...?  Talk *sense!*   Help me free my arms!" As he spoke, he managed to bring the creature before him into focus.  It was the Earth Pony from the back of the train car, an expression of panic plastered to his muzzle.

Before the Equine could respond, the doors behind him were violently pried open, revealing the blurry image of a figure in a white armored hardsuit.

The second the doors were open, there was a tense pause.  Words came from the armored figure, but it took time for them to sink in through the haze of latent sedatives, "Twelve.  Looks like three natives, nine converts."  As he parsed the sentence, Odie noticed that the soldier-like figure was equipped with a stun baton, rather than a lethal weapon.

When the word 'converts' finally managed to make a connection with his conscious faculties, he stiffed.  Memories of the moments leading up to his abrupt bout with unconsciousness flooded back.  He began to feebly scrabble, desperately trying to wish away his new hooves.

As the realization that he was no longer Human fully set in, further feeding his panic, Odie could just make out a distinctly feminine voice speaking in response to the soldier.   

The tone was not only casual, but almost matter-of-fact, "We need as many as we can get.  Take them all."

He barely had time to make out the source, a hazy figure of a purple-hued mare, before the soldiers put their stun batons to use.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fourth Day, Celestial Calendar

A fire was one of the many luxuries of travelling in charted lands.  No creature in their right mind, so far south of the wilds, would attack three Gryphons and a Pegasus, no matter how visible they made themselves.

As he stoked the flames with a long sturdy pine twig, Fyrenn paused to watch the patterns of light play across his feathers.  Three years since he had converted.  Three years of being a Gryphon, and sometimes it still hadn't fully sunk in.

Usually it was little things that grabbed his attention.  The mundane activities of life.  On occasion the disconnect between his new existence, and his old Human routine would reassert itself in a bout of emotions, and he would find himself rediscovering the joyous small moments of wonder that came with Conversion.

He cast a glance upwards as he heard hoofsteps, confirming that Stan had returned with more wood for the blaze.  As he silently added the new fuel to the mound, the red Gryphon wondered what it was like for his brothers.  Kephic and Varan had adopted each other, having each lost their parents to war.  Unlike Fyrenn, they were native Gryphons;  Born and raised with feathers, wings, beak, and talons.

Some days Fyrenn wished he could have experienced youth as a Gryphon.  Others he was grateful to be a Convert.  The sheer contrast between old and new life meant that there were certain things he didn't take for granted, like his incredible vision.  

Having once been blind, but for an uncomfortable ocular implant, he appreciated sight more than any of the other physical improvements his form brought, even if only by a small margin.

The reminiscence caused his train of thought to skip to a new tack;  Earth.  At first, he had visited with a certain degree of frequency, helping to get the then-nascent Gryphonization program off the ground by leveraging his experience as the first Gryphon Convert.

But after a year of going back and forth, he had settled in Equestria on a more long-term basis.  He had the Gryphic equivalent of an apartment in the capital, a full time position in the Brotherhood of Knights, and for nearly two years he had been content to embark on missions for the Kingdoms, mostly in the companionship of his brothers and Carradan. 

The Pegasus was not officially attached to them, but was often paid a mercenary fee for participating in their missions, which he supplemented by selling a column based on their adventures to Equestrian and Terran Newspapers.

Fyrenn chuckled.  Old habits died hard.  He and Stanley shared their Convert status in common.  Though they had once been at odds, years of working, fighting, eating, and relaxing together had made them more like family than anything else.  It had also, Fyrenn noticed, begun to erode some of Carradan's Equine pacifism, imparting a well balanced capacity for violent acts, when they were strictly necessary.

As he finished placing the final log, Fyrenn sighed, and slumped back into a prone, relaxed, leonine pose.  His last visit to Earth had been a brief logistically-driven weekend-long stay just shy of two-years-previous.

He found himself wondering how much had changed.  He stared into the dancing flames, and tried to picture people adjusting to the groundswell of change that he had played such a strong role in.  His mental focus shifted again.  He found himself wondering how *'she'* was adjusting to an alien world.

"Bit for those deep thoughts of yours?"  Carradan's words were jarring.  Sometimes the reporter's skill at reading someone was so powerful that it seemed preternatural.  It wasn't hard to see that the Gryphon was lost in thought, but Carradan had chosen his timing deliberately.

Stan pressed his advantage, glaring good-naturedly at Fyrenn, "When are you gonna learn, featherbrains, that there's no secrets on camping trips?"

Fyrenn sighed and chuckled half-heartedly, "Just wondering how well Neyla is getting along.  I shudder to think what might happen when she discovers espresso."

Carradan leaned in and grinned, his words tumbling out in a sing-song tone, "Yoouuu miiiissss herrrrr!"

Fyrenn snorted, and shoved Carradan away with an almost casual swipe that sent the big-boned Pegasus staggering backwards, "Of course I do.  But not like that.  She was...  Is...  A good friend."

Stanley chuckled, "Listen, pal, it's ok.  I come from a world where 'if you repeat it enough times, it must be true' is an axiom."

Fyrenn glared, the expression tinged with a mischievous grin, "Don't you have better things to do?  Like finding some water for supper..."  Carradan glowered, so Fyrenn appended his sentence, "...Before I make *you* into appetizers?"

Stan sorted, rolled his eyes, and set off into the air with a lopsided grin, leaving Fyrenn to continue his reflections.  Inwardly, he admitted that it would be nice to get the chance to see Neyla again.

She had been a friend and companion to the group ever since they had recruited her three years previous.  Until one day she had decided she wasn't coming home with them.

Deep down, Fyrenn knew the reasons were complex, and had more to do with him than he felt comfortable acknowledging.  When he wanted a simple explanation, he told himself that it was because she had finally given up on her life's dream, but still couldn't face that fact.

Neyla was a sentinel;  A Gryphon from an independent family with no clan.  She was doubly disenfranchised, given that she was also the last living member of her entire family.  

She knew her family had not always been clanless, and for years since her father's death, she had labored to find legal precedent to redeem her clan's assets.  If she were able to present a viable land-claim, or proof of a family tie by marriage to an existing clan, or if she were to marry a husband willing to leave his own clan, or merge it with hers, then she could lay claim to assets and proceed with the redemption.

The latter option was not appealing to her, for a plethora of painful emotional reasons, and difficult logistical reasons.  

The other two options had been exhausted for some time when she had joined the group.  She simply hadn't come to terms with it at the time.

The last Fyrenn had heard, she was doing paid work for the JRSF.

His ruminations were completely dispelled by the return of Kephic and Varan, hauling a large elk between them.  Dinner.

Fyrenn put his thoughts firmly in the back of his mind, and cheerfully went about helping to prepare the kill.  When Carradan returned with a skin full of fresh stream water, the four set to making stew with smiles and laughter.

As he neatly separated meat from bone with a talon, Kephic popped a small piece of the raw flesh into his beak, and chewed thoughtfully.  The results were unusually tidy.  Despite their ability and propensity to eat meat both cooked, and raw, Gryphons were not overly messy creatures, chewing their food with a hidden sharp edge inside their beak that performed the same function as teeth.

The speckled Gryphon spoke around his beak-full, "If I recall, this rendezvous we are...  Misappropriating, is close to one of the new railway lines."

Varan nodded, "I saw as much on the charts.  This particular spur connects a series of mines to the main line that passes through Neighvada.  The Troll clans of the badlands own and operate it."

Rails and steam power were not new to Equestria, having existed in theory and practice even before Contact.  But initial forays into railways had been primitive at best.  The advent of human ideas had caused a major boom in the technology and associated industries that was still swelling and gaining momentum.

Stan took a sniff of the stew, made a face, and began rummaging through his saddlebags for hay.  while he had become fairly accustomed to watching and smelling the cooking and consumption of meat, as a Pony he still had a deep inhibition towards consuming it, even if it came from a non-sapient prey animal.

As he extracted a large muzzle-full of golden-brown stalks, he added his own thoughts to the conversation, "So this is...  Three? Four days away as we fly?"

Fyrenn nodded, "By my guess, assuming we don't exert ourselves overly."

Stan snorted, "Fine by me.  When you fellas say 'double time' it feels more like triple."

The Gryphons shared a laugh at their companion's expense.  Carradan smiled and stuck his tongue out gleefully.  Even slightly out-of-shape as he was, the salmon Pegasus could move at military aircraft speeds, leaving the Gryphons far behind, in the short term.

In exchange, like all Pegasi, he had almost no agility or flight endurance by comparison.
The Gryphons could fly at what a Human would have called 'swift pace' for days and nights on end, stopping only to hunt, and even sleeping on the wing.

Carradan was lucky to go for a whole day without stopping to rest, under most circumstances.

How he had managed to stay so sedentary despite their active lifestyle was a great source of speculation to the Gryphons.  Fyrenn's personal theory was an overabundance of chocolate consumption;  The substance was so readily accessible in 
Equestria, by comparison to its practical non-existence on Earth.

The conversation turned to light-hearted banter at the stew simmered.  Even as the light of the fire, and the warmth of the camaraderie pushed back the cold mountain spring air, a small part of Fyrenn's mind still wandered in nostalgia.  Wondering.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 2nd, Gregorian Calendar

"Beta team, this is Alpha team; popping the lid."

Neyla stiffened, and checked her weapon one final time.  In place of her preferred arbalest, she was carrying a long thick javelin.  Two blue hued slits near the leaf-shaped blade indicated that the weapon had full magnetic charge.  At a twist of the central grip, the tip and the core of the haft would be ejected from the base at six times the speed of sound.

The weapon's blade had a monomolecular edge, and overall it clocked in at nearly a quarter of a ton in weight.  The majority of the construction was pure depleted uranium.

She shifted uncomfortably in her armor.  The thick, angular gray nano-ceramic plates were heavier than the gear she was accustomed to.  It came with the posting.  Scale-buster units had to fend off more than mere sharp objects and projectiles.

At her sides, just behind her twin short swords, two rail-pistols provided a comforting added bulk to her arsenal.  She had to give the Humans that;  They knew how to make incredible instruments of war.

She chanced a swift look around the corner of the building she was using for cover.  To the north, she could see her first teammate, Beta three, perched atop a roof.  His immensely bulky armor was made of a dull, color-adaptive material that could fool human eyes in a passing glance.  Neyla could make out the centimeter-wide imperfections in the plating edges.

She knew that somewhere to her left, and ahead, the man's sister, Beta four, was crouched in a stairwell wearing a nearly identical super-heavy class armor kit.

Neyla was Beta two.  Beta one was entirely unseen, which was a masterful feat of stealth considering his size.  

When she had first met him, the large metallic Dragon known as Tirinel had not been known for subtlety in combat.  But after two years of point-creature on their Scale-buster team, he had become as adept at concealment as a multi-ton silver-plated creature could possibly be.

It was an absolutely indispensable skill.

Far ahead, the sound of gunfire erupted.  Neyla's keen golden eyes could pick out individual muzzle flashes, even at such distance.  Without the warren of tall buildings that made up Dubai's suburbs, she could have read the lips of Alpha team.

The only response to the gunfire was a similar, but distinctly different staccato echo.  No sirens, no screams.  A twenty block radius had been quietly evacuated prior to the start of the operation.  The first time a 'Buster unit had seen action, it had leveled eight blocks of Shanghai.  Their operations tended to unavoidably produce large quantities of collateral damage.

"Get ready.  Thermal just lit up like a Christmas tree.  This one is a big one;  At least fourteen meters."

Beta three sounded unfazed.  Beta four's response, however,  seemed just the tiniest bit breathless to Neyla, "How are they doing that?  I thought newscales were relatively small."

"Growth accelerants.  Likely the reason we're necessary in this instance.  Dispense with the 'chatter.' "

Tirinel's voice was low, but surprisingly melodic, and at his insistence, the radio went silent.
Neyla tightened her grip on the javelin, and prepared her wings, unfurling them the slightest bit and tensing the appropriate muscles.

At a distance, the unaided Human ear might have mistaken the sound for a large truck.  Beta team knew better.  The growing rumble was the sound of a building roar.  The sound of an irate Dragon.

Suddenly, the night was lit as brilliantly as noon-day by a column of vibrant flame.  The hallmark natural weapon of a Red Dragon.  The growl of the creature's fury, and the smashing noises of its flailing passage through various buildings, was gradually augmented by the noise of an approaching fuel cell engine.

A heavily armored APC, fitted with special secondary layers of heat-resistant ceramic plating, tore around the corner at what Neyla guessed was close to seventy miles an hour.  The gun turret was revolved completely to face the rear, and spouting a constant jet of rail-rounds.

The vehicle's pursuer followed suit, scrambling across rooftops and demolishing weaker structures with the violence of its passage.  A wild Red Dragon;  Fully mature from a biological standpoint.  

The latest in HLF terror tactics.  Though Neyla wondered how much longer the organization could tolerate the damage it was inflicting to itself.  A wild Dragon knew no master, no friends, no allegiance, and no conception of one target from the next.

Draconic Conversion was already risky enough, even with the stringent psychological testing required by Earthgov to try and weed out candidates with a high mental instability.  The accelerants the HLF was adding to get full sized Dragons right-away were likely doing little more than vastly decreasing the chances of a successful Conversion.

The way Tirinel had described it, Dragonization was like a tightrope act thanks to the depth of a Dragon's connection to magic itself.  You had to have just the right state of mind to emerge with your sapience intact.

In Neyla's experience, HLF soldiers were not what one might classify as 'ideal candidates.'

The APC rushed past her hiding place, carrying a blast of hot air in its jetstream.  The ceramic outer hull had already been deeply carbon-scored in several places, and part of the railgun barrel had melted inward, then been punctured by successive rounds leaving the muzzle.

Despite the weighty caliber of the ammunition, and the exceedingly high muzzle velocity, the weapon was doing almost nothing to the pursuing Dragon.  It generally took a straight shot from a ship-scale battery to do any damage.  Dragons were not agile creatures, but their hides were so thick as to seem nigh invincible, even to the most formidable human weaponry.

Neyla had watched Dragons, allied and otherwise, shrug off acidic compounds, fresh magma, pure napalm, artillery railgun strikes, anti-material laser blasts, and even hits from small drone-based AMRAAM missiles.

Killing a Dragon was not an issue of brute force.  Such a contest was the most literal approximation of seeing an unstoppable force meet an immovable object that any living being was ever likely to see.  No, Neyla reflected, killing a Dragon was about agility, precision, and timing.

Like clockwork the APC ground to a halt, and in a seemingly display of abject battlefield stupidity, held its ground as the crimson juggernaut barreled towards it.

Just when it seemed as if the Dragon would simultaneously crush and incinerate the JRSF vehicle with its onslaught, the entire world seemed to explode.

Neyla's Gryphic eyes rendered the sequence for her in full detail, her brain processing time in a modified fashion, as most Gryphon minds were wont to do in combat.

Like a round from a gun, a monumental silver form exploded out of a nearby building, the front wall and most of the roof disintegrating to tiny chunks as powerful wings and claws laid waste to duracrete as if it were no more than wet toilet tissue.

Like the rest of Beta team, Tirinel was clad in armor;  Gigantic Naval-grade alloy/ceramic plates that added a secondary layer of frigate armor as protection over parts of his already nearly-impenetrable metallic scaling.  

A quartet of vehicle-scale railguns studded each foreleg gauntlet, and Neyla could just make out the two guided missile launchers tucked between the wing-joint protection plates.  She also knew that there were no less than twelve car-sized hidden blades, with wicked serrated edges, concealed in the armor's outer layers.

Due to his Draconic lack of agility, Tirinel's weaponry was nearly useless at-range, or against a small target such as a person.  Even a hostile unit with the weaknesses of a human could easily avoid his wrath.  Were he unencumbered by his weaponry he would certainly have greater flexibility and deadliness towards small targets.  But Tirinel's gear was designed for the swift and violent destruction of close, slow moving, large targets.  

Tanks.  Ships.  Buildings.  

And most especially other Dragons.  

Large angry Dragons.

The great silver creature raised both of his forelegs, standing over two stories tall on his hind legs.  Without warning or pleasantries, Tirinel fired all eight of his guns simultaneously with a flex of both claws, sending six of the eight shells directly into his enemy's back, and the other two through the leathery fabric of his wings.

The rounds that impacted scale simply crumpled and fell away, their momentum little more than a slap between the shoulders for Big Red.

But the ones aimed for wing passed directly through, shredding the thin material in a painful manner, and lodged in buildings far beyond the initial target.  Evacuation had indeed been a wise precaution.  Neyla knew, from experience, that this was little more than a kind perfunctory greeting compared to what would inevitably happen next.

Tirinel's enemy, while essentially a non-sapient rage-driven killing machine, was also larger than him by more than a third of his own body mass and length.  

The enemy Dragon rounded on Tirinel with remarkable swiftness for something so large, and muscularly encumbered.  He trumpeted a visceral, instinct-driven challenge to the skies.  Tirinel calmly took the opportunity to fire again, managing to sink one round into the soft flesh of the enemy's tongue.

The infuriated Red reflexively let loose with a huge column of flame.  The licking red tendrils engulfed Tirinel, the shockwave from their multi-thousand degree temperature bombarding Neyla with a gust of nearly unbearable warmth, even at-distance, and through the duracrete she was concealed behind.

Gasps from several troopers in Alpha team were audible over her headset.  The sounds of distraught shock swiftly transformed into abject awe.

The flame dissipated, as if sucked into a vortex.  In its place, a gust of bitingly cold wind swept over the block.  A visible whirlpool of ice and vaporated water had formed at Tirinel's open muzzle, and consumed the flames wholesale, putting an instantaneous stop to the reaction with the power of pure entropy.

Tirinel abruptly switched tactics, blowing the pocket of sub-zero air back at his opponent.  The gust washed over the red Dragon, instantly causing frost to form on the edges of his scales.

The beast dropped to his belly and moaned.  Reds had a massive weakness for non-ideal thermal conditions.

Neyla sighed.  Despite the red Dragon's unusual size, it was the swiftest end to a Scale-buster offensive that she had ever seen.  Her evaluation was premature.

She saw the threat first;  Her eyes picked up on the faintest of glimmers,  "Twelve high!"

The shouted warning over the radio was all Tirinel needed.  He sidestepped, almost casually, as a massive rail-round passed through the space his left wing had so recently occupied.  The silver Dragon traced the source of the blast and fired.

The action, while fruitless in terms of damage potential, did manage to coax the new combatant into moving fully onto the battlefield.

The newcomer turned out to be an HLF heavy tank.  A large main gun, and a quad of treads, augmented by two small independently gimballed flamethrowers, and four anti-personnel CIWS guns;  All coated in enough beige colored, energy diffusing, nano-carbon sheathed alloy to stop an oncoming  train.

The tank pilot was savvy.  He trained his flame-throwers on the red Dragon, and the heat from the weapons was more than enough to rejuvenate the groaning monstrosity.

Tirinel was now badly outmatched.  It was time.

As if on cue, Beta four rose from her hiding place, and shouldered her weapon.  The CAV-7 XL was a heavy-class Close-Anti-Vehicle missile with a warhead packing the equivalent of a seven metric ton TNT bomb.  Each round was equipped with heuristic tracking and detonation AI designed to ensure the warhead found its target, and waited to detonate until all proper criteria were met.

The trooper ran up to the JRSF APC, which had begun to fire its weapon into the tank, and was in danger of being obliterated.  She ducked behind the gray beleaguered vehicle for cover, and leaned out hesitantly.

After a momentary pause, she aimed the launcher directly at the tank.  The laser beam was invisible to human eyes, save for the spots where it passed through a mote of dust, but Tirinel's thermal vision, and Neyla's lightspeed eyes could make out the entirety of the menacing red meridian.

"Tik tik..." Beta four pulled the trigger, and the missile flew across the intervening meters, moving too quickly and at too close a range for the tank's anti-projectile CIWS to stop it.  The warhead buried itself up to the fins in the armored hide of the vehicle's turret.

Beta four paused, seemingly arbitrarily, but any seasoned combatant knew that she was merely allowing the missile to complete its 'inchworm' algorithm.  The round gyrated and writhed using rotating external plates, and internal gyros, working itself as deep into the enemy vehicle as possible like a drill bit.

Inside her opaque, thick-set helmet, Beta four smiled, "...Boom."

The explosion tore most of the turret off the tank entirely, pushing the base back several feet with the force of the blast.  The quad of treads tore trenches in the Dubai street, synth-rubber stripping off so swiftly that it combusted, leaving a short flame trail.

As the tank shuddered to a halt, Neyla snapped her wings to their extended position, and launched with all the force she could muster.  Beta three stood from his hiding place, and began firing all his weapons at the primary target.

Neyla knew that now the crux of the operation rested with her.  For all his power, Tirinel had no chance whatsoever of killing the red Dragon single-clawed without seriously injuring himself in the process.  The size disparity was simply too great.

With support from HLF armor, his chances of survival were slim to none.  The Gryphoness knew that the CAV missile would not have completely incapacitated the tank, despite the level of damage it had done, so now the onus was on her to finish off the red Dragon, and do it as swiftly as Gryphicly possible.

While she knew she was swift, and agile enough to avoid any expression of her enemy's wrath, she also knew that he would be instinctively capable of defending his weak points.  Now it was on Tirinel and Beta three to keep his attention fixed firmly on them so that she could make her move unhindered.

She heard and felt the approach of the shells long before they arrived.  It was an easy thing to dodge the oncoming stream of railgun fire, but quite another task entirely to do so while also approaching an immense and furious red Dragon that was lashing out with all of his limbs at anything within reach.

The HLF tank had survived intact enough to run both of its CIWS guns with full fire-control.  One was trying, and miserably failing, to get a bead on Neyla, and the other was punching credit-chit sized dents in the JRSF vehicle.

Neyla just barely had time to glimpse Beta four loading another CAV-7 warhead, before she had to cut a daring negative-G reverse-corkscrew to slide between Red's outstretched wing, railgun fire from the tank, and a missile from one of Tirinel's launchers that had missed its target, and was on the return arc to re-acquire.

The move placed her almost precisely where she needed to be.  The Gryphoness decided, in what appeared to be a split second, to take an enormous risk.  In reality, for Neyla, nearly twenty seconds of internal time had passed.  Of all a Gryphon's combat abilities the capacity to think and act on a higher plane of speed and agility, that Humans referred to as 'bullet time,' was perhaps the deadliest.

Seeing her beginning her dive prematurely, Tirinel launched himself fully at his opponent, sinking his claws into the hard edges of the red Dragon's belly-plates, and locking in.  He latched his jaws around part of his enemy's neck, and began projecting frozen air, while simultaneously firing his foreleg guns at their maximum rate.

The added weight caused Red to reflexively go into a partial kneeling position, and that gave Neyla precisely the conditions she needed.  With a speed so great that a Human would not even be able to fully perceive it, Neyla landed directly on the back of the red dragon's head, right where the plates of the neck joined the ones between the ears that protected the brain-case.

All Scale-Buster troops were trained heavily in Draconic anatomy. Dragons were possessed, in addition to their incredible scales, of a highly durable skeleton.  The braincase itself would take an enormous amount of force to crack, even without the plating layer.  Neyla had come prepared.

Even as her enemy began to feel her presence, she began the highly-practiced routine.  First she inserted her left claw's lethally sharp and unbreakable talons into the tiny joint between the final neck plate, and the first head plate.

She pried with all her might, and managed to get enough width, nearly two centimeters, to ram the blade of her javelin into place.  The massive collection of ruby scales beneath her began to buck, and writhe, but at the speed she was perceiving time she was able to compensate, if only barely.

She leaned into the javelin, forcing the scale plating up enough for the weapon to gain entry.  It abruptly sank in down to the grip, and Neyla was rewarded with a scream of defiant rage and pain from her target.

The red, unable to reach her with his feverishly scrabbling limbs, instead turned his unchecked pain and fury on Tirinel, shaking his neck-hold and acquiring one of his own.  But it was far too late for him to do any further damage.

Neyla grinned devilishly and whispered into her opponent's twitching crimson ear, "Well fought.  Goodbye."

She twisted the grip of her javelin hard, and there was a loud 'clunk-CRACK-squish.'

Driven by a full capacitor discharge, the one-time-use weapon propelled its quarter-ton depleted uranium core inwards, monomolecular blade carving a path effortlessly through sinew, muscle, bone, and brain tissue, backed by incredible magnetic forces and its own weight.

The projectile penetrated all the way to the inside of the red Dragon's brain, instantly and painlessly cutting the creature's miserable life short.

As the enormous form caved downwards, Neyla nimbly backflipped, coming to rest on top of the fallen creature's skull in a proud pose as the dust settled.  As if to offer backdrop to the victory, the brief silence was momentarily interrupted by the concussion of Beta four's second missile shredding the HLF tank, and its occupants, to shrapnel.

Neyla glanced up at Tirinel and smiled, "Well done.  You almost dented him this time."

Tirinel raised one great eyebrow and snorted, "Congratulations are in order for you too.  You could have almost halfway managed this one without my considerable contribution."

The Gryphoness chuckled, and sighed, "What is it the Humans say? 'If wishes were fishes...' "

Tirinel huffed, "Then at least one of us would dine well."
> Chapter 3
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fifth Day, Celestial Calendar

While Fyrenn loved the mountain highlands of Equestria more than any other place he had traveled, the desert also held a special allure.  Granted, it was difficult for him to say one part of the world was more appealing than another, given the sheer living vibrancy and unspoiled nature of the landscape.

Equestrian deserts were no less vital than any other part of the world.  The arid tang in the air spoke volumes with its slight touch of reptilian musk.  The reddish sand was broken by regular wadis, rock outcroppings, cacti, and scrub brush.

If one flew for long enough, there were inevitable oases of greener foliage, with low wide trees and hardy grass, clustered around underground springs.

From his vantage point, Fyrenn's eyes provided an even more vivid rendering of desert life;  Mice, rabbits, predatory birds, lizards, and insects abounded.  Despite the nocturnal nature most of the creatures were prone to, even their daytime hiding places could not shield them entirely from a Gryphon's gaze.

Fyrenn raised his eyes, and spied the telltale glint of their destination.  A faint glimmer of sun on parallel bars of iron, polished smooth and shiny by the constant passage of weighty cargo on metal wheels.

It did not take long for the group to arrive.  As the others landed, Fyrenn bent and ran a talon across the silvery top surface of one rail, leaving a small trail of sparks, "No train since at least yesterday."

Stan kicked at one of the wooden ties with a hoof.  The oblong braces were laid out in a criss-crossing pseudo-diamond pattern, rather than the traditional parallel bars seen in Earth's history and favored by Ponies. 

"How can *you* tell?"

"Dirt."  Varan offered the singular word as if it were the obvious factual answer to all of life's most pressing questions.

Kephic nodded and provided a more fleshed out explanation as he stared down the length of the tracks, towards the south, "When the train passes, it clears the rails of any significant detritus.  Wind blows dirt and sand back onto the rails in the time between the passage of each train.  That means today's ore train hasn't arrived yet."

Carradan tilted his head, then stepped slowly over the rails and back onto the desert floor, "Okay...  So here's how I think it plays out..."

The three Gryphons shifted their undivided attention to the Pegasus.  They had long since learned that Stan had valuable wisdom buried beneath his glib, humorous exterior.  Fyrenn leant down and placed an ear to the rail as Carradan aired his postulation.

"So the Badlands clans own this line.  Alright.  Why does a Troll from a mountain clan, who's part of a pack that's been hired to make scare-tactic raids on your settlements, turn up with a map that leads to this line?"

Kephic stepped gingerly around a cactus, and plucked out a spine between his left index talon, and thumb talon, twirling it in the sunlight and examining the imperfections idly, "The clans here have nothing to gain by provoking our southern mountain defenses."

Carradan nodded, and began pacing in the rail-bed, "Righto.  So the way I figure it, they're just the middleman...  Errr dog.  The mountain Trolls come here, and drop off proof of their bad turns.  The train goes north, stops at the mines, where someone else takes the proof, and offloads payment.  On its way back, the train drops off the swag with the do-badders, along with new orders."

Fyrenn raised his head, and stared down the tracks thoughtfully.  Carradan took his place at the rail, his far more sensitive Equine ears discerning even the vibrations caused by Varan shuffling.

Kephic glared into the noonday sun, unperturbed by the brightness, "So how do we follow the trail from here?  When the mountain clan pack doesn't make the scheduled rendezvous, it's going to send their handler scurrying."

Varan glanced down at the prone Pegasus.  Stan shook his head ever so slightly.  No train.  Yet.

The golden Gryphon stretched lazily, splaying his wings momentarily to allow the sun to warm the joints, "We have only one viable course.  We must acquire whatever information the 'middle dog' has, before the handler is alerted to the change in the situation."

As Kephic nodded slowly, Stan stood and cocked his head, "Meaning?"

Fyrenn smirked, "Meaning we're going to rob a train."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 3rd, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch tucked his arm in to protect his thermos of coffee.  Traffic in the Bureau had been best described as 'jammed' since the Barrier came into view.  The advent of such a stark, visible, foreboding indicator of the fate facing the city had galvanized the populace.

The change from apathy to engagement was not, Hutch reflected, entirely for the better.  For every person coming to the facility to down a cup of potion, there seemed to be two outside hefting picket signs, noisemakers, and occasionally large pieces of detritus that they would hurl at the bullet-proofed windows as a futile gesture of rage.

This signs said everything from, 'EARTHGOV = PER' to 'GOD HATES DIAMOND DOGS.'  The angry crowd was a combination of paranoid or wronged persons still upset over the results of the Diamond Dog Conversion scandals, and disenfranchised low-income workers who could not afford the new moving tax, but also had no desire to Convert.

They were calling themselves the 'Humans Occupy Bureaus' movement, taking a page from the playbook of a century-old band of protesters enraged over pre-Winnowing financial mishaps and bungles.

Hutch sighed, and squeezed between two long lines of disheveled people, being slowly guided through a security checkpoint by the familiar silhouettes of black-armored ConSec troopers.

He shook his head and murmured under his breath.  As far as he was concerned, the HOB were a waste of air.  They had legitimate points, but they were fouling the moral foundation of their movement by engaging in childish, dangerous, vindictive, and vapid behavior.

There were even whispers that the HLF were quietly stoking the flames of HOB movements, particularly the one in New York.  The taint of association had all but nullified the validity of anything the group said, in the eyes of the government at-large.

True, other copycat groups had sprung up in major cities around the world, particularly ones like London, that were soon to be in the Barrier's path;  But the movement was by far at its largest, and most dangerous, in New York.

Panic from the evacuation, combined with the HOB riots, had led to seven deaths, four fires, and eight thousand incidences of vandalism, theft, looting, and aggravated assault. And those statistic were, as far as Hutch knew, already days-old.

The seriousness of the situation was underscored by the activity, or lack thereof, from the PER.  Forced Conversions for the region had fallen off by a staggering thirty percent in a month's span.

Even the 'Secret Knights of Celestia,' as they thought of themselves, were afraid to stoke the ire of the restless city.

Hutch finally made it to the elevator bank, crabbing sideways to avoid a mid-sized Dragon.  While Ponies and Humans were still the majority demographics on the planet, three years of Gryphonization and the ensuing other programs had contributed to a visible rise in the presence of other species.

Hutch strolled to the rightmost elevator, and pressed his palm to the call-pad.  Security had been tightened repeatedly since the discovery of HLF infiltration technologies, and the 2114 PER attacks.  Full DNA scans were now mandatory biometric access denials for secure areas.

When the car arrived, the General took up a position against the back wall, leaning against the stainless steel inner railing.  "Fifth floor."  He could have, if asked, made an excuse about being too tired to push the manual touchpad by the door, but in truth he had a secret boyish fascination with voice control technology.

Hutch sipped his thermos quietly, and allowed his eyes to sweep the atrium as the elevator rose.  The tube, and car, were made mostly of high-density plexiglass, and the atrium space was several floors high;  This afforded riders in the elevators a view of everything going on in the heart of the Bureau as they rode.

The general smiled as he noted the presence of a Gryphon and a Pony on an upper balcony, staring down into the crowded space below.  Both were clad in armor plates, colored in the gray digital camouflage and single crimson stripe of the JRSF.

The fighting force had grown from a series of small strike teams to a full blown precision military branch gracefully.  The many talents and capabilities introduced by species diversity made the organization flexible, powerful, and resilient.

Hutch slept slightly easier during the night, knowing that such a strong and unified cadre of beings were protecting Bureaus, potion shipments, and high value targets around the globe.

He took a final glance at the atrium as the elevator passed through the ceiling and into an opaque shaft that led to the upper floors.  The heart warming concept the eclectic gathering of species evoked was partially spoiled by the still-visible protestors outside, even cordoned as they were by an intimidating blue Dragon, several Gryphons, and a full contingent of Military Police.

The elevator emitted a soft tone, and the doors slid apart with a barely audible hiss.  Hutch leant forward and walked purposefully into the Bureau's central situation room. 

The Conversion Bureau Network was responsible not simply for dispensing Potion to the population, but for overseeing its manufacture by third parties, aggregating and shipping it, purity testing it, defending itself in conjunction with the JRSF, and acting as an embassy to Equestrian governments.

The Manhattan Bureau had been the first, and the central hub of the network.  In light of the Barrier's arrival, central operations were in the process of being transferred to San Diego, the second Bureau to break ground.

In spite of, or perhaps because of the transfer, the Manhattan Bureau situation room was filled to the brim with technicians.  The room was vaguely ovoid, with most walls dominated by screens, or tinted glass walls that were shared with adjacent and connecting offices.

The center of the room was filled with work surfaces, desks, semi-cubicles, and a main central console with a holotank.

As one of the mainstay Human representatives on the JRSF's governing board, Hutch was also the main liaison to the Bureaus, and their in-house security wing;  ConSec.  Thus Hutch maintained an office space, incidentally directly across from his previous posting as ConSec section chief for the Bureau.

He shot a glance, and a smile, across the room at the latest officer to fill the post;  A stocky, athletically built Zebra.  After the JRSF had begun picking up momentum, it hadn't been long before Ponies, Zebra, and the occasional Gryphon, mostly Converts in such cases, had begun to acquire posting in non-JRSF entities as well.

The General passed their shared secretary in her spacious, ironically horseshoe shaped alcove.  She was a lime hued Unicorn with close cropped white mane, shaped into a peculiar beehive fashion that was reminiscent of older Earth styles.

She glanced up at Hutch and glowered.  They were on good terms, so he knew immediately that the expression was both a warning, and her opinion on his next appointment.  Hutch grunted and took another draught of his coffee, the gesture more of a shot than a sip.  "Bucking wonderful," he mumbled under his breath.

Hutch had developed a fondness for Equestrian expletives, in light of the fact that the increasing stress of his job was driving a similar increase in his use of 'colorful metaphors' overall.

Hutch steeled himself against the unknown threat, and tapped the 'open' panel in the glass of his door.  He was greeted by a disaster.  At least, that's what Aston called people who dressed the way his appointment did.

The woman was clad, head to toe, in a shade of fuchsia that could only be quantified as 'violently repulsive.'  The clothing itself was a well tailored business suit and skirt, but the hue of the fabric, and the peculiar hat-like object perched atop her done-up tangled nest of auburn hair, destroyed any image of suave professionalism.

The General spied the traditional silver and emerald Earthgov pin on her collar, and a few tiny flecks of gray in her hair.  He also noticed that she was wearing just enough makeup that Aston would have likely tried to strangle her on the spot.

The pin meant that she was, at minimum, a parliamentary member.  All elected officials at the parliamentary level and above were issued the pins;  An officially-unofficial highly exclusive fashion statement.

He set his thermos on the desk, swept around behind it, and offered his hand in greeting, "You're my two-o-clock?"

The woman shook his hand with a light grip and nodded primly, "I am.  Councilor Menera Loryss."

Hutch raised an eyebrow, "Councilor?"  He didn't recognize her name.

She nodded once more and seated herself, folding her legs, "I am Councilor Korvan's replacement."

The general sat, and pulled up his terminal, holographic displays dotting the surface of his desk as a screen rose from a concealed compartment in one side, "I thought the elections weren't until next week."

Councilor Loryss nodded, "True;  But there are provisions for selecting interim members to recently vacated postings, and an emergency Council session has been called."

"Concerning?"  Hutch fiddled with a holographic keyboard, running a search on Loryss, and simultaneously offering silent thanks to God that whoever had designed his office had placed the screen so that those sitting across from the desk could not see what was on it.

"Concerning Bill 2-14-117-2.  The 'moving tax.'  I expect the session will close with a repeal, or at the very least a strong amendment."

Hutch glanced up from a quick perusal of Loryss' records, and shrugged, "And so you're here because...?"

Loryss sat back and blinked, as if Hutch's question was undignifiedly redundant, "Well because, in replacing Korvan, I shall be the liaison from the Biotechnological Combine party to the Bureaus, and the JRSF."

Hutch blinked rapidly for several moments before stiffening.  The woman before him was assuming that her position would become official during the election cycle.  It was not an entirely uncommon occurrence for an interim to be elected officially to their position.  'Better the devil you know' was quite applicable to voters.

But for Loryss to assume, with such complete surety and confidence, that she was going to take the election?  To the General, that meant she was either incredibly arrogant, highly politically savvy, or exceedingly connected and corrupt.  Or all of the above.

Hutch spared a quick, casual glance for the screen;  According to the records, Menera Loryss was a political maverick.  A swift ascension from lower level positions to parliamentary speaker with a distinguished, albeit ruthless, record for 'getting it done.'

Hutch sighed and leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk's surface, "Ma'am;  Don't you think this meeting is a bit---"

She interrupted, as if she knew what he was going to say next, with a tone bordering somewhere between matter-of-fact, and patronizing, "Premature?"

"Ill-advised."  Hutch's response brought her up short.  He leaned back in his chair, framed by the light from the exterior window.  The day in Equestria was partially cloudy, and the peculiar intermix of the dead sky of Earth, with the odd ocean weather of the other world, cast the city in an ethereal palette of almost underwater colors.

The General shook his head slowly, "I respect the fact that you have initiative, but I don't see your full-time election as being a sure thing, if you will excuse me saying so."

Loryss stood, and stepped slowly to the window, her gait almost demure.  She gestured down to the protestors five stories beneath.

Hutch spun his chair to observe as she spoke, casually clearing his screen before she could turn to see her file.

"General;  What do you see?"

He shook his head once more, "A whole lotta disillusioned and directionless fools."

Loryss nodded, "What they are doing is 'ill-advised.'  And they are doing it because, in-spite of their disillusionment, they *have* been wronged.  Wronged because what my predecessor did was also 'ill-advised.'"

As she continued to speak, the interim Counselor took several steps back, and leant on Hutch's desk, "And when I, and the new interim Counselors, reverse the moving tax, we will be given a certain...  Surety."

Hutch shivered as Loryss drew the final word out, tainting it with a saccharine tone that made him sick to his stomach.

He stood and gestured to the door, his face becoming abruptly stony, "Well then, I recommend you set up a future appointment with my secretary, because I deal in present surety, not future speculation."

Councilor Loryss shot a distasteful glance through the glass of the office door at Hutch's secretary.  The speciesism behind the glare was self evident.  Hutch thumbed the open-pad, and gestured with less subtlety, "I'll have her pencil you in.  Have a nice day ma'am."

From the way he said it, Hutch was positive that Loryss gathered the intended meaning.  'Get out, and drop dead.'

As she strutted out of the office, Loryss offered a parting remark, "We will be seeing each other again shortly General."

Hutch grunted, and waited until the door closed to mouth his unseen response, "Not if I see you first."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fifth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn shifted and sighed.  It would have been nice to relax, and just let the heat from the rocks below seep into his muscles and wear away at the tension, but he was too wound-up and too focused to even consider rest.

"I see why so many of us like the southern colonies.  I could get *very* used to naturally heated rocks, low humidity, wide spaces where nothing else has the eye-range to match us..." Kephic smiled, the setting sun framing him in sharp relief against the red rock of the mesa.

Fyrenn, who was closer to the edge because his coloration afforded him more natural camouflage, tossed a disdainful glance over his shoulder, "No shrimp, no fishing at all, very few trees, no snow...  Nice to visit but you wouldn't want to live here.  You love the mountains too much."

Kephic snorted, and glanced back at his folded wings, "True.  And I'm not well colored for this environment anyhow."

Fyrenn snorted, grinning as he returned his eyes to the rails below, and to the west, "You stand out anywhere you go brother;  I'm afraid you're hopeless in that respect."

"Says the Gryphon who couldn't blend into a surface to save his life, unless it was red sand, or a pool of fresh blood."

"Give me some credit.  I blend well with the setting sun too.  The only thing you could disappear into is a lightless room.  Or a pile of dirty snow."

Kephic chuckled quietly as Fyrenn glanced up at the next-nearest protrusion of rock.  He managed to pick out Varan's beak and eyes peeking above the edge of the sandstone, similar to the way his own eyes and beak were barely visible to Varan above the edge of the mesa.

Fyrenn returned the focus of his gaze to the furthest point he could make out on the rail line.  Equestria, while not a spherical world, had a curvature like an utterly gigantic contact lens, so even Gryphons had a maximum line of sight to objects on the ground, and Fyrenn's eyes were riveted to that point, searching for a telltale puff of smoke, or glimmer of steel.

"It will certainly make our lives easier if the next train comes during the night."  Fyrenn sighed once more, and swished his tail in boredom, the fan of feathers at the end disturbing a few flecks of dust with their passage.

Kephic inclined his head, "Stealth aside, I am beginning to tire of this dust.  If I have to lie here much longer, I'm afraid my chest fur will end up the same color as Stan's coat."

Fyrenn shifted again, moving the sword and bow at his back to afford better comfort.  The group had opted to hide their armor in a small cave slightly west of Varan and Carradan's hiding spot.  The gleaming metallic surface posed the danger of drawing sensitive eyes, or more likely sensitive ears.

Diamond Dogs had by far the best noses, and some of the best ears, of any creature in Equestria.  Even though the noise and smell from the train would help to mask the impromptu heist, it had been decided that it was better not to tempt fortune and fate.

Fyrenn stiffened as he caught sight of a tiny puff of smoke on the horizon.  As the train came into view over the curve of the world, he grinned and nudged Kephic with a back paw, "Get prepped.  They're running hard on the throttle."





Ironically, native tribes on Earth had once referred to trains as 'Iron Horses.'  Fyrenn doubted that the Diamond Dogs would appreciate the irony.  

The train was, like the oddly designed tracks it ran on, a testament to the alternative flare a species could bring to a technology.  Although in the case of Diamond Dogs, flare generally meant 'spartan, pragmatic, and patchwork.'

The engine was a monstrous metal cylinder perched atop twelve wheels, six to a side.  The front played host to a tapering set of interlocking armored plates, two powerful headlights created by shining oil-burning lamps into Fresnel lenses, and an ugly serrated re-enforced scrape blade.

Each of the six wheels were interconnected by a dizzying bevy of eccentrics, levels, and shafts, that fed into larger cylinders, and were attached to smaller recessed flywheels.

The top of the engine was broken by a hodge-podge of relief valves, steam vents, and in the center a short, stubby smokestack.  The asymmetrical cab was bolted to the right side, as it it were an afterthought, and Fyrenn could see two beefy Trolls working overtime to feed coal into the firebox, while a third constantly adjusted valves and levers.

The tender was a double-long car with a flexible center, and behind it was a string of empty open-topped ore cars.  At the tail end of the two-mile-monstrosity was a smaller collection of rusty boxcars, and a final car Fyrenn recognized as some form of caboose.

Fyrenn swept his gaze across the train once more to ensure there were no unwanted eyes marking their passage, then signaled Kephic with a claw.  The two Gryphons leapt gracefully from the mesa, tucked their wings, and shot straight down the side like thunderbolts cast out of the heavens.

At the last tenable moment, their wings snapped back open;  First partially, in a cupped braking shape, then fully, using the air swept under them by their passage to gain speed, and maintain lift.

The pair whizzed along, inches above the desert floor, cutting a shallow arc towards the passing train.

Fyrenn aimed for the first box-car in the lineup.  He tilted in a lopsided pose as he struck the train's jetstream, reaching out with his talons and latching onto the car's door.  He pulled as quietly as he could, and when there was enough of an opening to wedge himself in, he front flipped into the car, drawing his sword as he came up.

The dark space was filled with sealed wooden crates.  Judging by the markings, and the smells, they were cured beef, dried fruits, and other non-perishable foodstuffs;  Likely destined to be supplies for the mines.  Nothing whatsoever suspicious.

Kephic arrived in the car at almost the same time as Varan began to open the door on the opposite side.  Fyrenn moved to help him in, and shortly they were all joined by Stan.

Fyrenn nodded, and snorted in satisfaction, "Well.  Now that we're all here..."

Varan swept the car with a claw, "We can enjoy our bounteous and glorious haul.  Of sub-standard foodstuffs."

Kephic chuckled briefly, "It's just the first car.  C'mon.  We've got five more to search.  Heaven forbid we end up needing to search the final car.  I doubt we can do that without leaving... 'Traces' of our passing."

Carradan grunted and shook his head, "What the hell am I doing with a bunch of goons who call dead bodies 'traces' ?"

Fyrenn smirked, and stepped to the door.

Quietly, and swiftly, the Gryphons and Pegasus moved from car to car, checking for anything out of the ordinary.  The second box-car was also filled with foodstuffs, the third and fourth with newly minted steel mining equipment;  Picks, shovels, bracers, carts, buckets, and sluices.

The group were beginning to despair of finding anything related to their suspicious communique without a fight.  Fyrenn hefted a pick and examined the sharp silvery edge, "Good workmanship.  I think they're starting to come abreast of early Human steel-working technique."

Stan nodded, "Books travel almost as widely as coins, or so they say."

Fyrenn quietly set the implement down, and nodded towards the aft end of the train, "All right then.  Last car, last chance for this to go according to plan."

Kephic squinted as Fyrenn jumped out the door, "Are you having delusions again?  Nothing ever goes as planned."

Varan grunted, his tone utterly deadpan, "Well we can dream."

The three Gryphons held their position beside the car as Varan exited, flapping regularly to maintain the same speed as the train.  Stan followed suit, but as the Pegasus was pushing the boxcar door closed, Fyrenn cast a fortunate glance over his shoulder.  He spied a Troll in the caboose moving to the window, and hissed, "Problem!  We have a problem!"

He snatched the salmon Pegasus in both claws, eliciting a small yelp, and dove out of sight.  Kephic and Varan vaulted for the top of the train, lying flat on the sun-warmed iron surface.  Kephic was facing rearward, and peered over the edge of the car to see the Troll leaning out the forward window of the caboose, scanning down the side of the train as it passed through a shallow left S-curve.

Below, Fyrenn had managed the near-impossible acrobatic feat of sliding between the wheel bogies of the car, and was grappled to the underside of the vehicle with his claws, Stan clutched uncomfortably beside him in the bowl of one wing.

"Don't mention this in future.  Ever."  Stan grunted from his squeezed feathery compartment.

Fyrenn chuckled, "Agreed."  A more serious expression took over his beak, and he shifted uncomfortably, "We can't risk looking.  We have to wait for the others."

As if on cue, Varan's head poked over the side of the car, "Clear."

Fyrenn gave Stan a nod, then tossed him clear of the undercarriage, the Pegasus' wings flaring to bear him aloft before he could strike the desert floor.  Fyrenn followed shortly thereafter, and the four companions slowed to bring themselves level with the final box-car.

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow in surprise.  The final car's door was bolted shut with a thick-set old style lock.  Without missing a beat, Varan spun around and latched onto the side of the car vertically, digging into the ledge of the door with his back claws and paw-pads for traction.

He inserted one of his right talons into the lock, and began to fiddle.  Moments later it came loose with a barely audible click, and he carefully un-threaded it, ensuring it would not fall free of the train and leave an indication that someone had been tampering.

As Fyrenn landed beside him in the freshly opened car, he grinned, "I had no idea you could do that."

Varan raised an eyebrow, "It is a useful talent."

Stan snorted as his hooves touched the floor, "I'll say.  Every once in awhile, I hate having hooves.  Just a little bit."

Fyrenn swept the compartment with his gaze, and stiffened, "Shit.  This changes things."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 3rd, Gregorian Calendar

Mr. Utah generally had a deep-running distaste for Cabinet meetings.  The HLF cabinet was divided into several groups based on their contributions to the front, all with codenames based on famous World War II nomenclature.

The meetings were held at a variety of locations, but the March one had been scheduled for the Retribution, and he felt he had the 'home field advantage.'

The HLF Submarine Retribution was based on an aging just-post-Winnowing design for a ballistic missile Earthgov interdiction vessel.  The hull had never been brought to launch phase, and Mr. Utah had managed to acquire it via his company ties, under the guise of repurposing the scrap to build low-income housing in New Roanoke.

In reality the hull had been shipped quietly to South America, where the HLF had poured hundreds of millions into making it into a failsafe mobile command and control center.  

It sported advanced anti-LADAR countermeasures, stolen from the latest Naval research projects, supercavitating high-ex AI-guided torpedoes, a VLS anti-ship and anti-aircraft SSAS missile system, and four retractable deck-mounted railguns pilfered from aging littoral ships, all powered by a 'decommissioned' nuclear fusion reactor from a defunct manufacturing plant.

The vessel had a complement of thirteen AI that oversaw not just onboard subsystems, but the integrated server that acted as a mobile, untraceable secure comms hub for the Front.

The most recent use for the vessel had been ferrying Queen Chrysalis, batches of Changeling excretion, and the Pony prisoners the HLF traded for the excretion, to and from Equestria.

The submarine also had a well apportioned conference room to host the Cabinet, and it was at the headmost right hand position of its center table that Mr. Utah sat.

At the head of the table, framed by a wall-screen, stood Mr. Stalin;  The current head of the HLF.  To his left Dr. Omaha.  The rest of the table was filled with the other members, seated by section, with the exception of Mrs. Juno, who was late.  A fact Mr. Utah was savoring nearly as much as the cigarette he had swiftly consumed before entering the room.

He had 'intimated' to the boat CO that Mrs. Juno should not be cleared through security as swiftly as the other members of the cabinet.  It seemed petty, but nothing Mr. Utah ever did was purposeless.  Everything that happened in a Cabinet meeting was a subtle power struggle, and cutting Mrs. Juno off at the knees was an excellent compliment to his home field advantage.

When she finally arrived, the glower on her face attested to a clear realization that Mr. Utah had been responsible for her special treatment.  He offered her an expression that amounted to the closest analogue of a grin he had ever given another Human being.

Mr. Stalin, a military general, as was obvious by his bearing and section, started the meeting without any preamble, "Phase-Three.  Where are we?"

He ruffled his graying military moustache in impatience, as Dr. Omaha stood to deliver a response. 

"We are on schedule to deliver ten units by the middle of the month, with a hundred more by the end."

Stalin nodded once abruptly, then brought his hands down on the steel table firmly, the sound resounding off the grating of the floor, and the metal ribs of the walls, despite their token faux-oak plating, "All right then.  Ragnar.  Talk to me."

Mr. Utah stood, and activated the screen with a subtle touch to his table terminal.  A wireframe image of the globe, including weather systems, surface indicators of varying types, and satellite tracks, appeared.  The Bubble was clearly visible as a large bluish blemish on the surface, with a dotted representation of the rest of the sphere that it truly was.

"The positioning will be correct for the operation, and according to the internal sources our 'Benefactor' has provided, the White Queen will be on-station as expected, in the City of Glass, leaving the Black Queen in the Marble Castle."

Mr. Stalin sensed a 'but' and glared.  Mr. Utah straightened his suit jacket, and continued, "We are, however, still in need of certain assets."

Mrs. Stuka, a prominent military general from Aircav section, stood and nodded at the screen, "The platforms have received software upgrades, as we feared.  We have the authentication index, true, but we still need a terminal with Danger-Red level command access, and we need to convince the AI governing that system of a Defcon-one situation."

Mr. Stalin leaned back, and crossed his arms, "Suggestions?"

Mr. Utah offered another smile, dropping the perceived temperature in the room, "I have a target in mind."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fifth Day, Celestial Calendar

The dark, dank, oblong compartment was filled with crates.  Like the crates in the previous cars, they were tightly sealed.  Unlike the other crates, they were built of sturdy steel panels.  And they had air holes.

The space was bookended with metal desks, bolted to the walls and floors.  The sides of the spartan writing surfaces were made up of tightly locked cabinets.

Fyrenn took a cautious step towards one of the crates.  Empty.  He was about to turn his attention to the desks, when a slight rustle caught his ears.  The red tuft of cartilage and fur twitched, and he took another step, approaching the next crate in line.

When the emaciated muzzle poked out the air hole, he nearly jumped backwards in surprise, hissing in warning out of reflex.

"Helllp..."  The voice was little more than a dehydrated rasp.  Fyrenn leaned forward, and realized that the muzzle was Equine.  He shuddered, "My God!  They're Ponies!"

Another voice emanated from another crate, "Hello?!  Who's out there?!  Let us out!  Please!!"

Kephic hissed slightly, "Ssssh!  If you get any louder you are going to bring the guards down us!"

Fyrenn gestured to the locks on the crates, and glanced questioningly at Varan.  The golden Gryphon nodded, and set to work on the first crate.  Fyrenn went back to the desk, and began to exert pressure on the locked drawers.

They quietly popped open as he strained the latches well past breaking point with minimal exertion.  At the other desk, Carradan and Kephic had begun a similar process.  Fyrenn pulled a sheaf of paper from the first drawer, and began to read.

It didn't take him long to realize that the majority of the papers were ledgers for transactions.  Transactions in gems, gold, silver, steel tools, information.  And Ponies.

He spat in disgust, flicked through the stack to memorize the contents, and shoved the papers back into the drawer.  He was about to turn away, when another sheaf caught his eye.  Extracting it carefully, he immediately realized it was a map, and accompanying text of some sort.  The text was in code, but the map clearly indicated a Gryphon settlement, and the best route to approach from, in the tactical sense.

Fyrenn quickly memorized the entire pair of documents before replacing them.  Kephic caught the sheets up before they had even begun to settle, "We may as well take these.  Once we free these prisoners, they're going to know someone was here.  There is no point to stealth anymore."

The speckled Gryphon's tone was not resigned.  Rather it was close to gleeful.  Fyrenn wondered if the Diamond Dogs on the train had more to fear from his smoldering ire, or Kephic's.

There was a loud click as Varan finished with the first lock.  While Kephic folded the documents, and secreted them somewhere safely in his neck feathers, Fyrenn moved to get a better look at the prisoners.

They were, sure enough, a disheveled band of Ponies.  He inhaled sharply as they came fully into view.  They were emaciated from starvation and dehydration.  He shook his head in a mixture of restrained fury, and utter lack of understanding, "How did this happen?  Who *did* this to you?"

The eldest of the group, a dark purple stallion with a graying mane, wheezed an answer, "Trade convoy...  There was a raid... 
We didn't even have time to call for help."

Varan glanced up from picking the second lock, "You are safe now."

Carradan offered a sheltering wing to the group, guiding them to the door for fresh air.  The second lock came undone in short order, and a somewhat less bedraggled group of Ponies were set free.

Kephic spoke in undertones with the mare in charge, while Fyrenn and Varan went through the second desk.  There were more ledgers, and a series of maps with attached coded text;  Some indicated Gryphon settlements, others trade convoys, and still others fringe Equestrian settlements.

Fyrenn thumped one of the maps with a claw, "This is more than simple posturing attacks.  I wondered...  It didn't seem any of the past night raids accomplished anything except to..."  He trailed off as the truth hit him.

Varan finished for him calmly, "To test our defenses, and distract us."

Fyrenn nodded, and scratched absently at his head-feathers, "But why the trade convoys and Pony settlements?  The prevailing suspicion was that these raiders were working, by proxy, for the PER...  The PER doesn't do abductions..."

Varan nodded, "Troubling development."

"Understatement."

Kephic strode over, looking perturbed, "The second group are newfoals.  Their over-land group was attacked between settlements,"  He glanced between Fyrenn and Varan, rage boiling in his golden eyes, giving them a distinctly volcanic aspect, "I think this is past the point of stealth.  Or diplomacy."

To Fyrenn's mild surprise, Varan was the first to express support, "Agreed.  I will take Stanley and decouple our carriage from the next."

Fyrenn smiled, a decidedly unsettling expression in the context, "That leaves me and Kephic the caboose.  I think I'm going to enjoy this more than I should."

Kephic shook his head, "No you won't."  He turned to the door and unsheathed his sword, "You can never enjoy something like this too much."





The first indication that there was trouble came in the form of a jolt.  The four Trolls in the caboose were playing a simplistic kind of card game, and their deck leapt into the air, scattering the cards all over the compartment.

The one in charge, a massive brown wall of meat covered in battle scars, spoke first, "What that?"

One of his subordinates moved to the window, and peered out at the desert.  It took his brain several seconds to process the input, "We...  Slowing down?"

He turned back to face the table.  With a jaw-dropping abruptness, an arrow sprouted from his forehead, tip bathed in orange-tinted blood.

The other three Trolls were taken so much by surprise, that they could not find the impetus to move, even as their comrade pitched forward lifelessly onto the table, upending it in a shower of bits, gems, cards, and bodily fluid.

The veteran fighter was the first to regain composure, snatching his large gnarled crossbow from a cargo net at the top of the car filled with weapons.  

The device was made of rusted iron, but the cables were freshly cleaned steel.  It was not as precise, or well made, as the Gryphon equivalent, but it was twisted with far more and thicker cables, giving it easily five times the piercing force.

The bolts in the chamber were claw-sharpened shards of pure granite.

The veteran scrambled over the body of his dead pack-mate, and smashed out the left window with a fisted paw, not even stopping to think about the glass slivers, which did very little to break the surface of his hardened skin and weathered fur.

The attacker was a red Gryphon, with a compound bow, and he had already knocked another arrow to the string.  The veteran fired without thinking.

Outside, Fyrenn spun, neatly dodging the granite bolt, and releasing his own arrow at the same time.  The weapon, a hollow seamless alloy tube, buried itself up to the fins in the Diamond Dog's skull.  But he didn't drop.

Fyrenn swiftly prepared another arrow, as the Troll scrambled to add a new bolt to his own crossbow.  Before either of them could fire, the tip of another type of quarrel abruptly appeared in the Troll's throat.

The combination of arrows finally felled the giant, revealing Kephic on the other side of the carriage, arbalest in-claw.

Fyrenn seized the opportunity to dive into the caboose, via the smashed window.  He eschewed the hidden blades on his bow;  The remaining Trolls were clearly inexperienced omegas.  With a heavy blow from a fisted claw, he laid the first out unconscious.  The second surrendered.

As Fyrenn knelt to bind him, he hissed in the creature's ear, "You will *sorely* wish you had fought me, and died swiftly."





As it turned out, the veteran Troll was the pack Alpha.  He was also capable of, apparently, surviving even an arrow to the brain, followed by a quarrel to the throat.

The meaty Troll, along with his two remaining Omegas, were lined up on the floor of the box-car, bound tightly with spare steel wire from a toolbox.  Carradan had guided the freed Ponies to the outcropping where the group's armor was stored, and divvied up the provisions to them.

The group had determined, unanimously, that the best course was to blow the entire food and water stash on their new protectees, so that they would be capable of reaching the next nearest friendly settlement.

Kephic and Fyrenn were bent over the coupling between the caboose and the box-car.  The caboose had a fold-out paw/hoof/claw crank to spin the wheels, so the plan had quickly become to put the group into the vehicle, and have Stanley and Varan work the machinery while Kephic and Fyrenn flew scouting duty to prevent a collision.

The Gryphons estimated it was no more than a few hours' journey to the nearest station, from which the train had originally come.

All that remained was to deal with the Trolls.

The coupling finally came loose with a satisfying 'CLANK,' at the insistence of Fyrenn and Kephic's claws.  The Gryphons signaled Varan, who cranked the Caboose a few hundred yards down the track to the south, away from the box-car.

Stan arrived back at approximately the same time as Varan returned;  Between himself and the less bedraggled members of the freed Equines, they had retrieved the group's armor.

Silently, and grimly, the Gryphons suited-up, glittering and menacing plates lending them an almost legendary air.  Fyrenn's armor was sleek, chrome-like in appearance with bronze-colored trimming in a similarly burnished material.

Kephic's was of similar design, but the metal resembled brushed aluminum, with the colorless chrome of Fyrenn's armor bearing nearly identical appearance to his trim.  Varan's armor was the same combination of colors as Fyrenn's, but more angular, darker, and less shiny, like gunmetal.

All three suits bore the brothers' clan emblem in various places;  Fyrenn's was on a foreleg shoulder guard, Kephic's on the upper left of his chest, and Varan's on a wing joint guard.

When they had finished, much to the silent awe of the assembled Ponies, Kephic gestured to Stan, and the caboose, "I think you'd better take them along.  They aren't going to want to see what's next."

Stan winced, and quietly did as he was asked.  He knew enough about the brothers to know that they, like all Gryphons, took an exceedingly dim view of slavery.  And what Gryphons took a dim view of, they seldom allowed to die painlessly.

Fyrenn, Kephic, and Varan stepped into the box-car, expressions murderously calm.

The Alpha spat, missing Fyrenn's back paws by a millimeter, "Foolish Gryphons!  Let us go!  NOW."

Fyrenn smiled, an intentionally sickly sweet expression, and leaned in close, "Now...  Why would we do that?  You're not very bright are you...  Do you know what the punishment is, in the Kingdoms, for keeping slaves?"

One of the Omegas whimpered, "But! We not in Kingdoms?!"

Kephic inclined his head, nodding, "True, true...  But no Gryphon has ever been known to keep a slave...  So the law is not really for *us.*"

The Smaller Troll looked up, confused, "No?"

Varan lunged, cutting the movement short a feather's breadth from the Diamond Dog's muzzle, "No.  It is for you.  As is the punishment."

Fyrenn rounded on the Alpha, a sarcastic note of cheerfulness in his tone, "Death!"  He grinned, his beak twisted into an instrument of terrifying lethality, "And not a swift one."

Varan reached outside the car, and hefted a large crate, pilfered from the caboose, into the space.  He dropped it with a resounding metallic noise, and the contents spilled out onto the floor.  Then the Diamond Dogs understood.

The Omegas promptly soiled themselves in abject terror.  Even the alpha looked shaken.

Fyrenn grinned once more, "Not that you could justify what you did to those Ponies...  But have you any final words?"





The three Gryphons approached the caboose on claw and paw, walking sedately, and conversing in low tones about the best route home.  Stan met them at the stairway to the vehicle, "I almost don't wanna ask but...  What did you do to those poor buckers?"

As if in answer, flames burst from the doors and roof of the boxcar, faint screams wafting on the air, along with a uniquely acrid stench, as the coal and oil fed fire within reached critical mass, and melted the weaker portions of the metal down onto the burning occupants.

Fyrenn sighed, "We locked them in their own slave cages."

Kephic nodded, "We didn't feel it was fair to *lock* them in though, so we tied the eyelets of the doors shut with oil soaked hemp.  After packing the corners of the car with oil-soaked coal, and dousing everything else inside, we left them each a flint and steel.  It seemed the sporting thing..."

Varan raised an eyebrow, "I wonder which of them broke and took his chances first.  It would be an intriguing look at the pack dynamic under duress."

Stan shivered, "You know, sometimes I'm afraid to sleep near you guys."

Kephic clapped him on the shoulder, his expression taking on a serious, but comforting bent, the corners of his beak turned up in a sad smile, "You know us better than that.  You know the species better than that."

Stan nodded, "I know.  But still...  You guys are some cold mother...  Err...  Cold feathered beasties."

Fyrenn glanced over his shoulder, taking in the howls of unquantifiable pain coming from the boxcar, "Oh yes.  Won't argue that one."
> Chapter 4
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 4th, Gregorian Calendar

Neyla had been enamoured with Human flying machines since the first time she laid eyes on one.  That a species bound by gravity, and not naturally possessed of wings, would put such time and effort into crafting such powerful extensions of themselves to tame the sky, was telling.

Given her time with the JRSF, Neyla had learned to identify nearly every type in current military service, and had even studied several historical craft.  She was amazed by the bravery it must have taken to trust such weak bodies to such piecemeal fragile machines, in combat situations.

Most of the craft on the Northolt tarmac were cargo transports, VTOLs, or heavy gunships.  A few sleeker shapes in the mouths of distant hangars marked the presence of a wing of FA-26 Scythe fighters.

The air was thick with the scent of synthetic aviation fuel, a commodity reserved almost exclusively for military use given that its only advantage over electric fuel-cell powered engines were the indispensable tactical traits of speed and acceleration.

Neyla had come to love the smells of Human military life.  To be sure, it was not quite the familiar tang of leather, warm feathers, and hot steel, but it had an indelible kinship born from the enduring warrior qualities in both worlds.

As a lone fighter thundered overhead, dull sky leaving a small flash of metallic fervor on the tailfins, Neyla smiled and bent to the crate before her.

Her Scalebuster unit was being recalled to New York and, as such, new and repaired gear had been issued to replace anything damaged or missing from the Dubai assault, or any gear that might have become dated during their deployment.

The crates had been shipped, one per member of the team, fresh from the Dublin armories to meet them at their layover in London.  The next leg of the flight would be unseasonably long, as the craft would have to navigate around the barrier.  Soon enough, it would be safer to fly over all of Eurasia towards the Western Americas rather than take the arcing path through the Northern Atlantic.

Neyla gave the gear in the crate a once-over;  A new RAC-9 repeating semi-automatic DMR railcarbine designed specifically by Gryphons for Gryphons, spare pistol ammunition clips, a new case of modified stun grenades with secondary EMP charges to disable potion dispersers, and five newer model mag-javelins.

Tirinel snorted as he lumbered past, a brace of multiple crates slung between his wings containing his own gear, "I will never understand how your kind can do so much damage with such small weapons."

The blue and beige Gryphoness grinned slyly, "Timing and accuracy.  But a big flashy ice-breather like you wouldn't know much about that."

Tirinel smirked in return, the expression so slight that the average onlooker wouldn't have caught it at all, "As you say.  I am an ice-breather.  I do not need accuracy, merely my excellent lung capacity, and sufficient cause to be angry."

Neyla's smile became less mischievous, and more genuinely approving, "You certainly did a good job with that big red."

The silver Dragon nodded once in agreement and reciprocation, "As did you."

Neyla followed Tirinel into the rear of a CVA-5 super heavy cargo jet.  The Dragon was able to fit with room to spare for other passengers and crates, given that the vehicle was designed originally to carry six main battle tanks.

Neyla strapped her gear crate into an open slot, then waved and stepped back to the ramp.  Tirinel raised an eyebrow, or at least the analogous scale plate, "You're not coming?"

Neyla shrugged, the gesture raising both of her wings a few inches in a fashion Humans seemed to find highly comical in its mimicry of their own shrugging movement, "I wanted to fly myself.  Get some endurance training in, and have some time to think.  See you in New York."

Tirinel nodded, as technicians helped him to secure his own plethora of gear crates, "Be safe, and have fair winds."  The Dragon, like most of his kind, did not quite have the endurance to make the trip in a single go, and at the same speed Neyla could.

She smiled and descended the ramp, cinching her arbalest and short scimitars tight in their straps.  Those particular pieces of gear never left her side.  They were of Gryphic make, and had been her weapons of choice for decades.

Neyla sighed, and cast an eye to the teal and gray dome above.  It wasn't the Equestrian sky she knew and loved, but it had a certain magnificent desolation to it, and there were times she enjoyed the feeling of being utterly alone in a void.

She extended her wings, and glided away, parallel to the runway.  When she reached the end, she flapped hard and gained altitude quickly, catching the downdraft from a departing CAA-7 to provide a quick shortcut to added momentum.

As she leveled off within the traffic pattern and settled into a long-range rhythm and speed, she reflected that as many times as she had been grateful for the solitude, there were twice as many times that it had eaten away at her soul like tendrils of ice.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Sixth Day, Celestial Calendar

Sangre Naranja was true to its name.  Orange and bloody.  Fyrenn shook his head slowly as he observed what passed for a peacekeeping force in the town end a particularly heated debate between a Lupine Diamond Dog and a Vulpine.  Forcefully.

Fyrenn leaned against a rickety wooden railing, and swept his eyes up and down the main, and only street in the town.  Ramshackle wooden and plate-iron buildings were interspersed with intermittent domes of stucco.

The town's populace was mostly composed of Diamond Dogs, Buffalo, and the occasional straggling Zebra.  At the end of Main Street, a large rail depot and station fed off into a series of covered pits for ore and cargo.

The Gryphons had inspected the site from above, but seen no further evidence of slave trafficking.  As such, Kephic and Stan had remained just outside the town until Fyrenn and Varan could scope it out.  When it had been deemed more or less 'safe,' the bedraggled string of Ponies had been led in, and put up in whatever tavern or hotel rooms could be found.

Though it had nearly taken the entire cache of bits and silver bars that the group had brought along, they had still managed to maintain enough spare currency to purchase provisions for a trip further south.

All had agreed that it would be highly unsafe for the freed Ponies to proceed alone.  The flaming example the Gryphons had made of the slaving pack would surely draw attention to the missing Equines within days, if not hours.

Fyrenn and Stan had volunteered to watch over the group while Kephic and Varan made the necessary foodstuff purchases.  Carradan had been swamped by the foals of the group, who were clambering over his wings as if he were a jungle gym, and their new adoptive uncle, all in one.

The red Gryphon smiled at their resilience.  Children of any culture seemed to have the durability of granite, and the flexibility of rubber.

He shifted as his ears detected the pit-pat-pit-pat of small hooves to his right.  He chuckled, "You're not scared of me?"

Fyrenn turned to see the young colt shaking his head slowly, "Nnnnoo..." The colt cocked his head to the side, "I'm Roughshod.  How old are you?"

Fyrenn laughed outright, and closed his eyes for a moment, counting mentally.  It had been some time since anyone had asked him his age, "Thirty one.  What about you?"

Roughshod placed his front hooves on the wooden railing, and peered up into Fyrenn's eyes unflinchingly, "Seven.  My mom says Gryphons are dangerous...  Is that true?"

"Oh yes..."  Fyrenn nodded slowly, "...But only to bad people."

"Like those Trolls?"

"Yes.  Like those Trolls."  Fyrenn sighed and stretched his wings, "You sure your mom would be ok with you talking to me?  Especially about this?"

Roughshod shuffled his hoof idly, "Mmmm...  Not sure.  Mom's not here.  The Trolls took me on the way back from a trip to granddad's."  The colt sighed, and Fyrenn thought he noticed a small teardrop in his eye, "Mom prolly thinks I'm dead now... I don't know how to find her again..."

Fyrenn flared his right wing, tucking it around the young Earth Pony protectively, "Don't you even worry a little about it.  I'll help you find her.  Where do you live?"

"Neighvada."

"And that's exactly where we're going."  Fyrenn gave the colt a light shove with his wing, "Now, if you want to get an easy laugh;  Go ask Stan why his coat is pink."

As Roughshod bolted off to rejoin his playmates in harassing Carradan, Varan stepped out of the general store, "Are you sure you don't wish for a fledgling of your own?"

Fyrenn snorted, "Hell no...  I'm absolutely sure I *do.*  But I don't think I'm ready for a mate and I'm not about to put some poor fledgling through the added stress of having only one parent, when they could have two."

He shrugged his wings, and turned his head to fix Varan with a mock glare, "Besides.  I'm a lousy cook."

Varan began to chuckle.  As Kephic arrived with sacks of food, and a quizzical expression, Fyrenn nodded slowly, "I mean, *really* lousy."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 4th, Gregorian Calendar

The Lucapa facility was six hundred acres of fabrication, quality control, assembly, fueling, and storage space in central Africa.  The Genesist-run base was the first, last, and only viable attempt Humans were ever going to get at escaping Earth without Converting.

Lucapa was mankind's first and only real interstellar starship factory;  Massive pits, hangars, and gantries filling the desert floor, to the point that they were visible from orbit.  The objective was to assemble large, silvery, arrow-head shaped sleeper-ships.  

The Genesists would load the vessels with frozen Humans in cryogenic pods, provisions of all types, and  data-cores containing copies of the internet, and every database on the planet.

Most of the funding for the initiative, and the party, came from high level pro-Human constituents with major business connections.  The remainder was paid for by mining operations beneath the base.  The Genesists opted to sell off any materials that didn't have a direct connection to the construction of their starships, and the profit was enough to keep the organization afloat.  Barely.

The northernmost end of the immense compound was comprised of personnel facilities, labs, processing stations, and a large observatory.

The latter was a cylindrical multi-story steel and glass building, with a satellite plexus on the roof.  Inside, a cadre of Pony mages, Human scientists, and even a few Zebra astronomers worked tirelessly to find a few intrepid colonists a potential new home.

A constellation of orbiting satellites, each fitted with a bevy of telescopic lenses, particle detectors, and long-range sensor palettes, searched the Milky Way for clusters of habitable worlds with precisely the right criteria to fulfill the explorers' needs.

Far above, out beyond the taint of the ruined atmosphere, satellite GN-A-11-C opened the aperture of its detection aparati to the influx of cosmic radiation whizzing through the void.

The plethora of useful information impacted the metal and glass of the sensors, registering terabytes of data in the space of mere moments.  Within the space of another microsecond, the data had been transmitted down to Lucapa base.

The stream of compressed information, translated into invisible wavelengths, struck the observatory satellite dish, and was instantly retranslated to computer code.  From there it wound its way through a half hectare of positronic matrices held inside server racks.

Multiple task-specific AI sifted each tiny fragment of information, cross-referencing their findings with more general-purpose constructs, and collating the data for final review.

On the fifth pass of the final overall filtration, the carbon-searching AI nicknamed 'Bellicose' discovered a level one green flag.  Upon cross-referencing, multiple overseer programs were able to determine that there were no less than seventy two green flags, ranging from levels three to one.

Within five more seconds, the data had been fully prepared for viewing, and transmitted to a console.





Councilor Janet Martins had come to expect and accept the reality of late night phone calls.  When her preferred communications DaTab began emitting an attention demanding trill in harmony with her bedroom wall screen, she knew the situation was more pressing than a simple diplomatic call.

As head of the Genesist party, Martins was responsible not only for her duties as an Earthgov Councilor, but also for administratively overseeing the Genesist Initiative itself.  Those who knew her well enough to have some idea of her workload often speculated as to the source of her seemingly supernatural stores of energy and patience.

She sat up, rubbed at her eyes, and took a moment to force her graying auburn hair out of her vision cone.  A swift check indicated that the calls to her screen, and DaTab, were both from the Lucapa facility, so she opted to answer the DaTab given that it was close to three AM local time, and all she had on was a faux-silk nightgown.

She pressed the accept key, and was treated to a spinning circle inscribed with the words, 'Establishing Secure Link: Standby'

Martins sighed, and set the DaTab back on the nightstand, thumbing the 'SPKR' key as she did so.  She stood, stretched, and glanced around her newly issued apartment.  The lights were at their dimmest setting, with illumination provided only by a few discreet floor lights, and the glow emanating from the city of Vancouver, visible through the floor to ceiling east-facing windows.

The space was mostly bare;  The items that had adored Martins' Harrisburg residence were still mostly packed into a series of crates, stacked in the corner of the living room.  She had no plans to unpack.  The apartment was a temporary solution, intended to provide a space for sleeping until the official diplomatic quarters of the new Earthgov Vancouver Council Facility were complete.

As she stepped to the refrigerator, and withdrew an energy drink, the DaTab finally made a connection, chirruped once, and went to the call.

A male voice Martins recognized as her chief Unicorn Mage emanated from the speaker, "Councilor?"

She took a draught of the synthetic fruit juice, laced with vitamins and a caffeine substitute, before answering, "I'm here Astris."  Martins tapped a control on the countertop, and brought the wallscreen on, set to a muted newsfeed.

The voice on the other end of the DaTab paused, then spoke with barely restrained excitement, "Councilor;  How soon can you be here?"

Martins glanced at the DaTab with an expression of mixed confusion and curiosity, "We're in the middle of emergency deliberations to repeal a tax bill.  What's the rush?"

Astris took an audible breath of anticipation, before speaking again, "Because...  We think we found it.  We've found our destination."

Martins paused, staring, before dashing to the nightstand, and abruptly shoving the lighting control to maximum, "Expect me by tomorrow."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Seventh Day, Celestial Calendar

"Octal for your thoughts?"

It took Fyrenn several seconds to process the voice. Octals were the small gold, silver, and bronze octagonal coins that Gryphons used for currency.  Every coin had a series of pits on one side, and corresponding nubs on the other so that they could fasten together in rods for easy counting, carrying, and storage.

Fyrenn glanced over at Kephic, and grimaced, "Trying to reason out how we're going to go about breaking the codes we discovered."

Kephic shook his head emphatically, and dipped one wing to account for an updraft generated by the morning sun, "It takes more specifically trained minds than ours.  We'll head home, restock, and relay what we now know."

The pair flew on in silence for several more moments, soaking up the warm morning sun.  Below, Varan flew at a slower pace and much lower altitude, conversing with a mother and her foal, as Stan helped guide the rest of the group down the dirt road to Neighvada.

Sleep and nutrition had done wonders for the Ponies, enough that their incredibly powerful metabolisms had come to bear once more.  Fyrenn knew they would reach Neighvada within half an hour.

He stared down at Roughshod, who was trotting in tandem with Stanley, pestering him with questions.  To Fyrenn's amusement, and pride, Carradan was smiling, laughing, and fielding the constant stream of chatter with incredible grace and kindness.

"Do you have any idea where to start with finding his mother?"  Kephic cocked his head slightly, and followed Fyrenn's gaze.

The red Gryphon nodded, "There is a Royal Guard contingent on-station thanks to the recent unrest.  She will have doubtless been on their doorstep every hour of every day begging for answers."

Kephic nodded sagely, "I'd expect nothing less from a worried parent."

After another forty minutes of amicable silence, Neighvada was at last large on the horizon.  Within another five minutes, the group had entered the city.  The large settlement was a study in juxtapositions;  Traditional Equestrian architecture reminiscent of the late middle ages, mixed-in with adobe buildings crafted from natural clay and sand deposits found nearby.

Technologically, the city was nearly as eclectic as its architecture.  Heavy initial newfoal immigration, a small but growing pre-existing enclave of Gryphons, and the Diamond Dogs attracted by the nearby mines;  All had lent their unique concepts to the city's infrastructure.

Magelights were interspersed with torches, and more modern gas-powered street lamps.  Some of the foundries and metal refineries were powered by traditional bellows, others had powerful boiler-driven blowers and mechanical after-burning smoke-stacks.

Tellingly, the Town Watch arrived to meet the group at the north entrance of the city.  Five stocky Pegasi in Royal Guard Armor, muzzles fixed with the same stony expression members of the corps always seemed to wear.

Fyrenn and Kephic made a swift landing, and the former offered a curt nod to the Sergeant of the Guard, "Greetings.  We freed these Ponies from a pack of Diamond Dog slavers, moving northwards.  We'll need some help arranging safe lodging and later transport for the dislocated, and I know at least one of them lives here and needs help finding his family."

The Sergeant nodded, "We'll make all the appropriate arrangements."  His gaze swept the Gryphons, "Any tactical report you could give us on the state of the land to the north of us would be greatly appreciated."

Varan inclined his head, "Consider it done."

Varan departed with a master-at-arms, while Kephic and Stan herded the majority of the freed prisoners towards the garrison.  Fyrenn singled out Roughshod, and took up a slow walking pace beside him, "You ready to see your mom again?"

The young Colt nodded emphatically, and yawned.  Fyrenn smiled.





"You are sure of this?"

For a response, Varan merely nodded once.  The Master-at-arms winced involuntarily, "This bodes ill for us.  There have been more disappearances in the region of-late.  Now perhaps we know why."

The chart-room of the garrison was old.  Stucco construction with low hanging wooden roof-beams.  The lighting was still provided by torches, an example of Equine stubbornness and resistance to change.

Large maps of the Equestrian Nation hung on the walls in tapestry form, while more detailed and recent regional charts on papyrus covered the surface of the main oaken table.

Varan had spread out the maps pilfered from the train, and helped the Master-at-arms to make a set of detailed copies to be sent to the Commander of the Guard in Canterlot.

The older Stallion smiled at Varan, "Thank you, your raid has given us information that will prevent future tragedies."

Varan returned the smile and rose, stretching, "I hope so.  I certainly hope so."





The house was modest wooden construction with wattle and daub structuring.  All the lamps inside were lit to hold out the evening dimness, and Fyrenn's ears detected the subtle hints of conversation inside;  A fact he verified with his eyes as they pierced the veils of the curtains to reveal a female Earth Pony, and two female Pegasi comforting her, and helping her to prepare a meal.

Fyrenn shifted his wings, and fisted his claw to deliver a slight rap to the weathered acacia wood door.  The conversation instantly died.  Seconds later, there was a sound of hoofsteps, and the door opened.

Fyrenn smiled down at the Earth Pony mare, and gently shifted his right wing to reveal Roughshod, sleeping soundly on his back, head to the side, chest rising and falling, tiny snores emanating from his throat.

The mare gaped, tears of joy and shock welling in her eyes.  She charged forward and then, with surprising grace, gently shifted Roughshod to her own back.  The young colt whimpered in his sleep, then smiled and sighed contentedly as he sensed the scent and heartbeat of his mother.

She in turn smiled up at Fyrenn, her expression conveying more than words ever could.  She didn't speak, neither did the Gryphon.  He merely smiled in return, nodded once, then turned and walked down the front steps of the porch.

Fyrenn turned as he reached the street, extending his wings for flight.  He stole a final glance at the reunited mother and son, soaking up the warmth of the moment he had been party to creating.

He smiled, holding back tears of his own as he took to the sky.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 5th, Gregorian Calendar

For years, ever since he had been assigned his post at Fort Hamilton, Hutch had enjoyed stepping out for lunch, rather than partaking in the officers' mess.

He enjoyed the opportunity to sit, away from his work, and simply observe passers-by;  Taking the pulse of the city.  The General's preferred Lunchroom was a small venue renting out the base floor of an older Skyscraper a block from the Fort.

As far as Hutch knew, the proprietor intended to continue operating at least one final week before evacuating.  The General had made a point of coming for lunch every day, for he knew he would miss the restaurant.  It had become something of an avatar to him for the loss of New York itself.

Hutch stepped through the front door, and sighed with a twinge of remorse.  The crowd was light, and the door was plastered with an evacuation notice.  The General straightened his gray digital camouflage jacket, bringing the lone red stripe into line, and helped himself to a seat in the back of the room.

He smiled, and waved to the proprietor;  A young man with a dark green apron, shock of blond hair, and thickset circular cosmetic glasses, returned the gesture.  He knew Hutch's usual preference.  A thick BLT sandwich, made with real Equestrian ingredients, fruit juice, and a hot coffee.

The General fiddled with the rank chevrons at his collar.  Five interlocking gold chevrons, two of which were stamped with silver stars.  He watched the patrons for a few moments.  Several Humans, a family of Ponies, and even a lone Gryphon, before shifting his focus to the street beyond.

Most of the street traffic was either utility vehicles, or transport trucks ferrying people and their belongings to the airports, seaports, or train stations.  Foot traffic had also diminished, with most of the passers-by walking quickly and keeping their eyes fixed on the pavement.  Subtle indications of nervousness and despair.

Sometimes, when the sun was out in Equestria, a current of lighter mood could be felt as a result of the warmth, and golden light.  But it was a cloudy day in both worlds, and public moods were mirroring the weather.

Hutch refocused on the Lunchroom as his meal arrived.  The floors were a classic teak-like synthetic surface, the walls were painted a pleasant shade of beige, trimming was composed of faux gold, and the finishing touches came in the form of a green granite bar top, and tabletops.

The General offered the proprietor another smile, "Thanks Len."  He spent several minutes indulging in his sandwich, relishing in the divine taste of real, juicy, fresh meat and vegetables.  While Ponies were responsible for the import of most of Earth's fresh food, they had deep running inhibitions against meat.  Most beef and pork products came from the Gryphon Kingdoms, with the remainder of demand being picked up by Minotaurs.

Hutch had finished his sandwich, and just begun his coffee, when he was abruptly jarred by the arrival of a second guest at his table.  The General had been so preoccupied staring into the swirls and bubbles of his after-lunch drink, that he hadn't noticed the man's approach.

It took him several seconds to fully register the newcomer;  Beige trench coat, black slacks, cream colored suit, and matching fedora.

Hutch sat back and shook his head, "Matthas Korvan.  What's the matter?  Looking for a job?  I suggest you look elsewhere. 
You're not really military material."

Korvan slowly removed his chapeau, and set it lightly on the table, "General.  I'm not here to beg.  I'm not here to search for a job.  And I'm certainly not here to be insulted."

The General snorted, and took a large sip of his coffee, "Oh?  Then what are you here for, because I have very little else for you besides insults, and I'm not ashamed to admit it."

The ex-Councilor sighed and leaned back in his chair, "You and most of Manhattan, General.  But I'm not here to receive anything from you, but to deliver something *to* you."

Hutch merely raised an eyebrow, the disdainful expression twisting his lip was question, and opinion, enough that he didn't need works.

Korvan leaned forward conspiratorially, "I'm here with a warning.  I hear you've met my...  'Successor.' "

Another snort prefaced Hutch's response, "If you're referring to the insufferable woman whose clothing is the only thing as loud as her jumped-up arrogant---"

Matthas slammed a fist into the table, rattling Hutch's cup in its saucer, "Hutchinson!  Do *not* underestimate this woman.  You're making..."  Korvan glanced around before lowering his tone once more, "You're making the same mistake I did.  And it cost me my seat on the Council.  More than that;  Very soon there won't be a New York left, and without a representative district, my political career is going to suffer mightily as a result of my impeachment."

Hutch chuckled, "You enjoy understatement almost as much as you enjoy undercutting others don't you?"

Korvan snatched up his hat and stood, glowering, "I don't give a damn what you think of me General, and I expect you don't much care for my opinion of you as a man either.  But you've always struck me as a discerning military leader so please take my advice.  Have care for Menera Loryss.  She.  Is.  Dangerous."

Without any further preamble, or parting gesture, Korvan stormed out of the lunchroom, collar turned up against the wind.

Hutch breathed deeply, widening his eyes momentarily, before picking up his coffee and finishing it in a slow, thoughtful drought.
> Chapter 5
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Ninth Day, Celestial Calendar


Fyrenn enjoyed evening watch.  The comfort of smoldering coals, bracingly fresh cool air, a full stomach, and keen eyes was surpassed only by the comfort of the presence of his family.  He tilted one tufted ear backwards, indulging in the sound of the group's calm rhythmic breathing.

The group had departed Neighvada that morning, having sent word of their forthcoming return to the Gryphon capitol by messenger the previous night.  All had agreed that a full sleep cycle in actual beds would be beneficial before setting out again.

Fyrenn stared out over the side of the hill the group had chosen to camp on.  Pine trees, interspersed with occasional hardwoods, blanketed the grassy slope all the way down to a small stream, where the landscape changed over into a pastoral plain that stretched on for miles to the south.

The scene was well lit, for a Gryphon, by the illumination of the moon and stars above.  Equestria's sky was a stunning expanse of black velvet, studded with glittering multicolored diamonds and silver.

Fyrenn was never sure what he loved most;  The wonderfully unique, ever-changing, always-welcoming sky, or the verdant and diverse land below.  Having grown up with no plants, no animals, no sun, and no moon, he was sometimes struck with a simple gratitude for the blessing of a living world.

As much as he relished the expanses of earth and sky, he relished even more his ability to defy gravity and be master of either.  When he was known as Isaac Wrenn, he had suffered a degenerative condition in his eyes.  Wrenn had been reduced to wearing barely semi-legal SONAR-based implants that painted his world in a cruelly color-devoid palette of digitized blues and teals.

He had also been barred from the one career he had desired above all things, even since childhood;  Becoming a fighter pilot.  On reflection, Fyrenn had often wondered if he had always been a Gryphon-in-spirit without quite knowing it.  From the earliest of ages he could remember whizzing through the house barefooted, a small model of a Scythe clutched in-hand, imaging ever-growing exploits of daring and bravery in the battlefield of the sky.

But at last, he had wings of his own on which to explore and tame the heavens, and he wouldn't have traded them for anything.

Nonetheless, deep down, Fyrenn continued to wonder what it would have been like to pilot a sleek fighting craft at speeds well in excess of the sound barrier.  He unconsciously reached up to rub his eyes, grateful for their clarity and power.

The condition that had befallen his human ocular organs had not been natural.  Most natural ailments could be treated with gene therapy, but the damage had been utterly inoperable.  The severity of the injury had been the result of a bioplasmic grenade.

Fyrenn winced at a flash of memory;  An impassioned plea for change, an enraged and twisted face, and the image of the grenade as it arced above his head, framed by the sight picture of his sidearm as he pulled the trigger, the barrel aimed squarely at the occipital lobe of his best friend.

Robert Gilchrist.  Or more appropriately, Robert Gavin, although the man had also gone by many other aliases as a result of his time at the helm of the PER.  One he had been Isaac Wrenn's closest friend, back when he was still Human, and still working as a bodyguard for an Earthgov Councilor.

Gilchrist had changed everything on that fateful day;  Entering the Council chamber to attempt an assassination via bioplasmic grenade.  A reaction triggered by anti-interspecies marriage laws intended to boost Conversion rates.

Fyrenn had thought his friend dead, by his own hand.  The pall of his actions and inactions had haunted him for years.

The russet and burgundy Gryphon jolted, a wave of painful emotions coursing through his soul with a severity that he hadn't felt since the day of Gilchrist's *actual* death, three years previous.  The flash of pain brought with it a vague image. 
A pair of red narrowed eyes, framed by skeletal eye sockets.

Fyrenn jolted once more, physically, and peered into the darkness.  Every fiber of his predatory muscles tensed, wings prepared for flight, legs cocked like springs, claws digging into the grass beneath him ever so slightly.

A voice at his side brought his head around slightly, one eye focused on the owner, with the other still trained partially on the area of his suspicions, "See something?"

Kephic moved with the grace and silence of a stalking lion, coming to stand quietly at Fyrenn's side, gazing out across the plains in the direction of the red Gryphon's body.

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "I'm not sure."

The answer was highly unusual.  Gryphons were rarely unsure of something they had seen, possessing the not merely the best eyes of any living creature, but a spectacular photographic memory similar to that of Alicorns, Dragons, and Changelings.

Kephic raised an eyebrow.  Fyrenn inhaled deeply, "I...  Thought I saw eyes.  Red eyes."

His monochromatic brother stiffened reflexively, the edges of his beak turning downwards in a sharp angle of concern, "Wisp?"

Fyrenn inclined his head in acknowledgement.  The two Gryphons stood for nearly a quarter hour in total unmoving absolute silence.  The only movement was their eyes, ever scanning and re-scanning the world before them.  

They had encountered the creatures' direct presence only once, but the battle had very nearly cost them their lives.  Their appearance was like a demon;  The skeleton of a Pony with a scorpion tail that could whip deadly barbs and pierce bone, alloy, and flesh.

The creatures had an aura of energy, the true being possessing the bones, that had the capacity to pull the fragments back together if they were not sufficiently separated.  Not only did the Wisps possess reflexes and movement speeds equal to a Gryphon, they also possessed the ability to sense, reflect, and manipulate emotions in others, fostering negativity and feeding off of it in turn.

After the feeling of tactical concern had finally passed fully, Kephic turned to his brother with an expression of more familial concern, "Are you alright?"

Fyrenn sighed, and nodded.  He allowed the silence to pass for several more seconds before replying slowly, "I want to thank you again.  I know we've had this conversation before.  But it still bears saying.  You did me a greater kindness than you'll ever fully know."

He gazed at Kephic, recalling the expression of equal parts grim resolve, and satisfaction, that had graced the speckled Gryphon's face as the resounding 'crack' of his rifle's shot died away.  The shot that ended Gilchrist's life, so that Fyrenn's could be spared.  And so that he might be spared the burden of ending Robert's life a second time, or worse, coming to terms with a dim and broken facsimile of forgiveness.

Kephic slung a wing around his brother in a brief hug, "I think I understand.  And as I've said before;  You will always have my support, and my love, and my blade.  As you did then."

They stood in a more comfortable silence, reminiscing, until the crack of an ember from the fire brought them back to the present.  Kephic sighed, "Do you ever think about her?  Where she went?  What she's doing now?  How we'll find her?"

Both Gryphons knew the unspoken antecedent to the nameless pronoun.  The driving evil behind Gilchrist's own foolishness.  The purple coated, navy maned mare who had vanished in a star-like apparition, after forcing Gilchrist to attempt to murder Fyrenn.

"Veritas?"  The red Gryphon spoke her name more as an epithet than an appellation.  He shifted stance, and nodded, "Often.  Three years and I still have no idea what to make of her, or what we saw that night.  I can't even reason out the riddle of my own words."

"In bonds of family six set out, to seek The Dispossessed, In joy and sorrow, grief and strife, bearing morbid stress.  Where Sun and Moon the expanse share, the six will find the power, To put an end to Darkness, strife;  The war of Night's own hour."

The brothers turned to see that their sibling had joined them.  Varan ushered them back to the circle of the firelight, moving carefully to avoid waking Carradan.  He kept his voice low, "I have applied much thought to the riddle as well.  Our discussions of it never seem to yield much fruit beyond what we have already reasoned out."

Fyrenn nodded, as he took up a leonine recumbent position, back legs stretched out behind him, forelegs similarly in front, and crossed, "Six set out;  Well there's me, you two, Stan, and as far as family goes the next closest thing we have are Skye and Neyla..."

As Fyrenn trailed off, Kephic took up the discourse, "The Dispossessed...  If not the Wisps then what?  They definitely seem dispossessed of corporeal form in their natural state...  But there is no guarantee that they are the answer to that line...."

Varan nodded slowly, finishing the thought, "And the rest appears to imply a coming war, and the solution to provide for victory, but in most...  Enigmatic terms."

Fyrenn inclined his head, then stared into the fire. The riddle taunted him with the tantalizing prospect of answers to the deepest mystery in his life.  And the ominous tone of its implicit warning.

He had spoken the lines himself, moments after effectively 'dying,' having lingered for some time in a coma sustained from injuries.  A mere fraction of a second before his own living will specified that he was to be put down with a lethal dose of sedatives, he had  come bolt upright on his hospital bed, and recited the lines.

It was not until *after* that moment that he recalled waking up, so the riddle had been recounted to him by his brothers.  He could not even remember speaking the words.

Airing his thoughts as they occurred to him, Fyrenn slowly etched circles in the dirt with an extended talon. 

"If ever we were on the eve of war it is now...  Diamond Dogs under the auspices of some party, perhaps the PER, are raiding our settlements and those of our allies.  A disquiet is creeping over the land;  I may well have just seen, or at least felt the presence of, a Wisp.  The Changelings will not react well to our most recent offensives, and the HLF have been so quiet recently that I can't help but think we're in for a world of trouble."

Varan nodded once more, staring into the fire as if to follow both Fyrenn's gaze, and his line of thought, "Disquiet is indeed the appropriate term."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 6th, Gregorian Calendar

City of Glass.  The Rain City.  Neyla found Vancouver's nicknames quite apt.  The metropolis was one of the least densely populated on the West Coast of the Northamerizone, despite its eight million inhabitants.

Neyla glanced up at the forebodingly dark sky as she disembarked the maglev.  A slick glimmering sheen of water covering the platform's duracrete surface spoke to the passage of a recent downpour.

She created something of a stir with her passing as she made her way to the station exit;  Gryphons were not so uncommon anymore as to draw interest all the time merely with their presence, but the sight of one riding a train was fairly unusual.

Neyla had chosen the maglev over flying herself to Vancouver partly for the time to rest it afforded, and partly because she had never had a chance to ride a train for any lengthy period of time, and she wished to add the experience to her growing repertoire of Earthly memories.

The blue and tan Gryphon had developed a strong interest in Humanity's technology and popular culture.  From the first time she had set paw and claw in New York, she had been enamored with the peculiar, but refreshingly new viewpoint the bare-skinned creatures offered.

Neyla paused as she found herself standing on the sidewalk beyond the terminal.  She had arrived in New York only to find that there were new orders waiting from JRSF centcom;  Proceed to Vancouver and stand ready for an operational briefing.

Tirinel and the rest of her unit had already been re-routed, so she was left to her own devices.  A situation she was quite used-to, having been utterly independent since a young age.

Having arrived, however, she was unsure what was expected of her.  She pulled her DaTab from the small satchel between her wings, and quickly checked her official military communications account.  Nothing.

Neyla sighed, and took a moment to scan the landscape around her as she considered her options.

Vancouver felt much less dense than Manhattan, a perception mostly enforced by the greater distance between buildings, lower density and volume of mega-skyscrapers, and higher profusion of artificial trees and grass.

The structures themselves were often shorter, wider, and composed of an airier glass-centric construction with minimalist visible framing and support.

As she examined the city, the Gryphoness concluded that, in the absence of orders, she would find some way to pass the time until the enigmatic silence surrounding her next mission was lifted.  A soft rumble from her stomach provided a more pressing, immediate, and basic objective.

She glanced behind her at the train station.  A hanging light-monorail was departing the terminal on one side,  and a VTOL was rising from a pad somewhere on the opposite side of the compound.  Neyla could see a few signs for restaurants through the arcing transparent front wall of the building.

She scanned the menus, attracting some intrigued stares from passing pedestrians, and concluded that she would rather hold off on food long enough to find an eatery with proper meat, than indulge immediately and settle for synthetic Earth 'meat.'

Synth-meat was, for the most part, absolutely vile to a carnivorous predator, such as a Gryphon, who was thoroughly accustomed to real, juicy, nutritious, flavorful *meat.*  Neyla had known a few Converts who remained accepting of certain brands of synthetics, but even so they always preferred the real product.

She smiled inwardly as she was reminded of Fyrenn;  Having been an Earthgov Special Forces Marine, he had become so acclimated to Synth-Meat that he continued to have the capacity to stomach it comfortably, even post-Conversion.

The Gryphoness sighed, putting the memory abruptly out of her head, and stretched.  Trains and aircraft had slowly begun to make changes to accommodate Gryphons, just as they had already changed to accommodate Ponies.  Nonetheless, Neyla's seat had been more cramped than she would have preferred, and her muscles were paying the price.

She slowly scissored her wings open, leaning first to one side, then the other, and stretching the limbs out to their farthest tolerances to ease away the cramps.  With the soreness alleviated, she took to the air with a swift beat of her wings, leaving behind swirling downdrafts of rain mist kicked up from the pavement.

From above, it was easy to select a destination.  Two years of Earth-side service had taught Neyla how to use her acute vision to recognize and classify aspects of Human cities.  The usefulness of this pattern recognition went beyond tactical benefits, and provided a valuable glimpse into the civil make-up of a city, including the most likely spots to find good food.

She picked out a nearby eat-in restaurant that, according to its menu, had real meat shipped in from Equestria, via an agreement with the city's Bureau.  More than the menu, the building intrigued the Gryphon as well;  It was one of the few constructs she could see that was rendered in an obviously older style, with stone construction, pillars, molding, and gilding.

Neyla tucked her wings partially, and dipped into a wide, high speed, sweeping arc that brought her to her chosen destination in a matter of moments, with no expenditure of wing power.  At the last second, she pulled up short, and stuck a perfect landing on all-fours in a clear patch of sidewalk.

Her arrival generated a moment of surprised attention from nearby pedestrians, both Human and Pony, before they fully processed the landing and went back to their business.  Neyla smirked ever-so-slightly; Gryphons might have become a known and accepted quantity on Earth, but they obviously still held a certain surprise factor.  

Three years was hardly enough time to become fully accustomed to the idea of a new species for most people, especially not with the advent of other Conversion types complicating the issues at-play.

Neyla ducked into the eatery.  The interior was lovingly crafted to emulate an old twentieth century fine dining establishment.  A synthetic crimson carpet smothered the floor in several inches of fabric that felt quite nice under paw and claw.

The walls and ceiling were covered in an intricate molding pattern, covered at intervals with understated gilding trim.  The smell was heavenly.  Every type of fresh food imaginable seemed to have an ephemeral olfactory presence.

Neyla made her way to the bar.  The stools in most establishments had been modified over the years to be highly adjustable.  She lowered an empty seat to a height that would keep her head at roughly the same altitude as other patrons.  Plus perhaps a few inches.

She took a seated position on her haunches, paws providing a stable grip on the stool, and waited for the bartender.

The Gryphoness acquired a drink quickly, something Humans referred to as 'beer.'  It bore some vague similarity to Gryphic meade, albeit with noticeable differences stemming not only from the peculiar methods of fermentation, but from the synthetic base chemicals that stood-in for organic components.

Like all Gryphons, Neyla's metabolism and immune defenses precluded the possibility of even a slight 'buzz,' much less inebriation.  She had simply acquired a fondness for certain human cuisine and beverages.

For a few quiet minutes, she nursed the Gryphon-sized tankard she had been served.  She noted, with mild interest, that the majority of non-Human patrons in the building were other Gryphons.  While there were a few Ponies, the ratio was unusually low, likely as a result of the establishment's meat-centric menu.

She was on the verge of lapsing into hypothesizing about various cultural interactions centered on the preferred cuisine of differing kinds, when a voice from behind interrupted her.

"Neyla!  This is a nice surprise!"

The Gryphon turned to see Kara Sorven.  The two-star general was one of the human JRSF liaisons, and had been present for the events of the foiled PER attack on Manhattan in 2114.  She hadn't known the woman long, but Neyla had been quite impressed with her leadership skills, bravery, and tenacity.

"General Sorven?  I'm surprised to see you here..."  Neyla paused as her gaze shifted down, and she noticed the two young blond-headed boys at the general's side.  They couldn't have been more than ten or eleven, and were staring up at the Gryphoness with an intense wide-eyed fascination.

She smiled down on the twins, and then glanced up at Sorven, "Are these your fledglings?"

The General chuckled and held one hand to her mouth, suppressing her mirth to prevent it from exploding into outright improprietous laughter.  She nodded, laying a hand on the head of each child in turn, "Yes, these are my boys;  James and Michael."

The latter of the twins abruptly worked up the courage to speak, his voice ringing out with surprising clarity and confidence for his age, "Are you a Knight?"

Neyla snorted and shook her head, a smile pulling at the corners of her beak in-spite of herself, "No.  I'm not very good at following orders.  My job with Earthgov is fairly... 'Loose' in the command structure.  At home, I'm called a 'Sentinel.' "

Michael scrambled up to a standing position atop the stool to Neyla's left, prompting James to do the same with the stool on her right.  Breathlessly reaching near-eye-level with the Gryphon, he posed his own question, "What's a Sentinel?"

Neyla sighed, and her smile turned slightly wistful, "It means I stand alone, but can still work with others.  Sometimes."

James gawked unabashedly, "Wooow! So you don't have to take orders from *anyone*?  Even Mom has to take orders!"

Sorven glared good-naturedly, "*Everyone* has to take orders at some point in their lives.  You and your brother, for instance, are ordered to march right back to the table and finish your kelp."

The mandate drew simultaneous groans from the twins, "Moooom!" 

Michael pouted, "We want to talk to the Gryphon!"

James nodded, and made a face of disgust so comically amusing, that Neyla was very nearly forced into fits of laughter, "And besides, Mom, Kelp is *nasty.*"

The general nodded, "Yes it is.  Its also good for your bones and muscles, and if you follow my order, then maybe you can come back here and join us for dessert."  She leaned forward conspiratorially, "*Real* chocolate even."

The twins dashed away so swiftly, that Neyla paused to wonder if fledglings, of all races, were somehow party to an unknown form of innate magic that gave them their seemingly limitless energy.

Sorven collapsed onto the vacated stool to Neyla's right, and sighed, "Those two.  I love them to bits but...  They've been a real trip to handle since their father passed."

Neyla inclined her head, "When?"

The general shook her head, inhaling, "Oh...  Five years ago now.  Much as those boys nearly wrecked me for all the effort they needed to stay afloat...  They're also the only reason I had to go on, and still the best one."

Neyla nodded, then chipped away at her generous portion of meat in silence for a full minute.  After Sorven had ordered, and drunk most of, a glass of something called 'cherry,' the Gryphoness indulged her curiosity, "So why are you here?"

Sorven raised her head from her glass, and musing, "In Vancouver?  I'd bet a month's pay, same reason as you.  Classified opspec briefing for some kind of upcoming operation."

The Gryphon nodded again, a single blunt affirmation.  Sorven continued, after a sip from her glass, "Why am I here talking to *you*?  Well."  The General shoved her newly emptied glass away, and turned to face Neyla, "To cut a very long story short, I'm *strongly* considering Conversion.  Myself and the boys."

Neyla immediately understood, and she twisted her head to face Sorven directly, "You're considering the Gryphon program."

Sorven raised an eyebrow, "More than considering.  I've more or less made my decision.  I just need some questions answered;  The kind best answered by a Gryphon, but not a new Convert.  I need an honest appraisal borne from years of hard-knocks.  For their sake."  She inclined her head at her twin sons, who were busy at a nearby table, apparently having started a contest to see who could make the most laughter-inducing disgusted face each time they took a bite of kelp.

Neyla cocked her head slightly, "What do you want to know?"

The General jerked her head curtly at her sons, "Kids.  What's their life like?"

The Gryphoness sighed, and breathed deeply, "Honestly?  As someone who spent more of their fledgehood than they should have had to without parents?  As someone who is clanless?  I'd still recommend it overall.  I'm an exception.  True there are many fledglings who lose their parents to battle, but they're always cared for.  Family drives us.  Second only to faith, and in a large way part of it.  You wouldn't have to worry about their future ever again.  James and Michael would be gladly accepted and welcomed like any other fledgling, wherever they went and whatever they wanted to be, even if the worst happened to you."

Sorven smiled, a genuinely relieved and pleased expression that seemed refreshingly rare for her features.  After a long pause, she sighed, and gestured to the bartender, tapping out an order for two pieces of fudge on the holo-surface of the bar, "Now my problem will be getting a sponsor."

Neyla shot a glance at the twins, smiling as they looked up and waved, "On the contrary. That won't be a problem at all."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Tenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Tih’ré Seli’hn;  Capital of the Gryphon Kingdoms, largest city in the empire, and oldest inhabited settlement of the species.  Fyrenn loved it.

In old Gryphic, the separate written and spoken language Gryphons used for historical documents, and architecture, Tih’ré Seli’hn meant 'Strong Mountain.'  Like all words in Gryphic, it had a far more complex and specific meaning that was better translated, 'A mountain eyrie, strong because of its tight-knit family of warriors.'

The nomenclature was very apt.

Fyrenn, Kephic, Varan, and Carradan crested a peak, and beheld their home.  The journey from their last camp had taken a full day, so it was once again the 'golden hour' of evening, just between late afternoon and early dusk.  The same time of day that Fyrenn had first seen the city, not long after his Conversion.

The settlement was built directly into, and on, the side of a huge mountain peak.  The central peak housed the castle-proper, court of the King, armories, vaults, and library.  The exterior buildings flowed out from the main Caer, ensconced firmly within the rock, to fill the slopes and a small highland glen.

The free-standing structures were more akin to modern Earth skyscrapers than the perhaps expected medieval aesthetic, substituting inscribed arcs and beautiful leaf-like structuring for more traditional architectural features.

The independent buildings were mostly dwellings, shops, and external defensive structures;  Either freestanding, or near the top third of the incredibly tall, thick coniferous trees ringing, and sparsely populating, the glen.

Gryphons were a truly directionally unlimited society;  While most flew, some also walked over shorter spans.  The city was, therefore, possessed of streets, crafted from precisely shaped cobblestones.

The majority of the structures were built of a special type of seamless, smooth, flowing stone that allowed for graceful curves and arches;  Fantastic shapes that made the city appear, in a strange way, to be a natural part of the mountain, despite its obvious artificial construction.

Fyrenn knew from experience that the flowing-stone was essentially impossible to destroy, once fully set, without the right knowledge, chemicals, and many months of time.

On the whole, Tih’ré Seli’hn was a very open city.  Fyrenn smiled as the golden rays of the sun bathed the swooping, neo-Celtic-like structures and their inhabitants, in a warm welcoming light.  As he had on his first trip, he noted the hidden defenses of the city with a grin.  Deployable steel panels, hidden alloy spikes, and pop-out arbalests meant that the open nature of the city could quite swiftly be changed, converting it into an unassailable fortress.

The Gryphic military sensibility in no way hampered the city's ability to act as a display of artistry.  The flowing-stone of the settlement was trimmed with marble, steel, and burnished bronze.  Windows tended to be immense, unsupported by filigree or visible framing.  

They were, as far as Fyrenn knew, made of some type of clear shatterproof crystal, and they could swing, slide, iris, and recess in all manner of inventive ways to allow passage of light, wind, and Gryphons.

The group made directly for the Concourse, a part of the mountain stronghold framed between two guard towers that opened onto a large semi-circular landing space, intricately inscribed with twisting designs that contained written Gryphic script.

Fyrenn dipped a wing and increased his speed as he noted the presence of a familiar figure on the Concourse.  He beat the rest of the group, arriving in a burst of air as he was forced to flare his wings completely to avoid an unceremonious crash.

He strode forward, smiling from one side of his beak to the other, and fell into a bear-hug of wings with the roan Gryphon, "Sildinar!  I wasn't told you'd be returning anytime soon?"

Sildinar pulled back and smiled wryly, "I was nearly as unaware as you.  I returned for a short stay to see to small affairs, only for my father to ask that I stay longer.  Your message beat you here by several hours."

Fyrenn smiled and sighed contentedly, "It's good to see you again."  Sildinar had been a primary driver in cutting through the red tape necessary to get Fyrenn into the first, or for that matter any, conversion slot.

The roan Gryphon was older than Kephic and Varan by several decades, and outranked them all, being reigning prince of the Kingdoms.  Fyrenn hadn't known when he first met him, and it had come as something of a shock when he first discovered the tie.

Over time, it had become normative and comfortable.  Gryphons took command and authority quite seriously, but in a way that was often very loose at the same time.  Leadership was always based on close ties of friendship, respect, and sometimes even family.  

Sildinar moved to take Kephic and Varan into salutatory embraces as they arrived, and he even exchanged a firm hoof/claw shake with Carradan, smiling as he did so.  The endorsement of the other Gryphons had gone a long way towards building Sildinar's faith in the reporter.

As the all-around greetings came to an end, two more Gryphons came forth from the mountain.  King Siidran was a similar shade of roan to his son, but with streaks and patches of darker fur and feathers.  Queen Linnea was a shade of dark near-black blue that shifted towards purple in some lights, with patches of lighter fur and feathers that were more of a cream shade.

Both royal Gryphons were decked out in ceremonial armor, mostly comprised of Gryphic alloy, with decorative trim of bronze, silver, and diamonds.  Gryphons almost never used malleable substances like gold for armor or weapons, as a rule, even for ceremonial pieces.

Siidran smiled, and greeted each member of the group in turn, coming last to Fyrenn with a warm smile, "Welcome home Fyrenn.  Your journey went well?"

Fyrenn nodded, returning the smile, "Well enough, but with its own share of foreboding."

Linnea snorted and shook her head, "There will be time enough, and then some, for reports.  First, I think rest, food, and drink are in order."

Carradan grinned, "I've said it before ma'am, and I'll say it again;  You speak my language, right to my soul by way of my stomach."

Linnea's laughter was like the flowing melody of a cool stream, "I have learned much from my mate, and from my crown, and foremost of these lessons is that a warrior needs a full stomach and a rested spirit as often as one can get them."





The Gryphons, and Pegasus, made their way into the mountain Caer.  The halls were wide, tall, vaulted, and had windows or skylights wherever possible.  The airy nature of the structure, combined with a multitude of clever lighting devices dispelled, almost entirely, the sensation of being underground.

They quickly reached the great hall, which was only one floor above the Concourse.  The room was a long, vaguely ovoid space with an arched ceiling of smooth rock and oaken beams.  The entryway afforded access to staircases, and the corridors on the central level.  The opposite wall was one single pure crystal window that looked out upon the Concourse with its guard towers, the city, and the valley beyond.

Much of the center of the room was dominated by a huge oval hearth.  Tables and Gryphic 'chairs' that were used in times of feasts and large meetings, were pushed up against either wall, well out of the way.

At the far end of the room, before the window, sat a smaller round table with chairs, and the royal thrones surrounding it.  The thrones themselves were intricate stone masonry with bronze filigree, that somehow managed to be eye-catching, yet not at all ostentatious.

Fyrenn spied, with a growing sense of hunger and relief, skewers of meat already laid on the hearth, along with more than enough brown bread, rice, and dried apricots to round out a full meal for not only the assembled Gryphons, but Stanley as well.  Judging by the smell, the meat itself was equal parts scallops and salted boar.

Most tantalizing of all was a cask laid by the table, along with a profusion of stone tankards.  Fyrenn knew by the markings on the side that it was Heather Meade, and by the beads of condensation on the aged oak, that it was fresh from some dark and cool cellar.

Heather Meade was, to other races, one of the strongest non-Draconic intoxicants in existence.  To Gryphons, Dragons, and other races immune to inebriation it was a kingly delicacy of brews;  The most sought-after type of spirits in all the northern lands.

To Fyrenn, it held extra special significance as one of the first Equestrian drinks besides Coffee that he had ever tasted.  During his trials of Knighthood, the King had wagered a cask on his victory.  The aged brew had been a sweet, refreshing, fulfilling way to celebrate victory.  The joyous memories of the moment had bonded strongly with the flavor.

The Gryphons all set to finishing the preparation of their meat.  Carradan, for his part, indulged in the rice, apricots, and bread to compensate for his mild meat aversion.  Time spent with the Gryphons had allowed him to develop the stomach to smell cooked meat, and observe its consumption, without discomfort.  But he still shied away from actually consuming it himself.

As the group took their seats one by one, Fyrenn plied Sildinar with a burning question, "So how are things Earthside?  It's been four or five months since I last heard anything."

Sildinar took a deep draught of his Meade before answering, his tone calm but grim, "The situation has deteriorated badly.  The Bureaus are suffering, the political climate is imploding, and whatever handle we thought we had on the PER and the HLF has vanished.  True enough they're quiet...  But in this case that's not the best of signs."

Varan stared grimly into his tankard, "Our news is no better."

Siidran glowered at his plate, spearing a piece of meat with a talon, "Your missive mentioned that you discovered critical information about the recent attacks..."

Kephic nodded, swallowing the bread he was chewing, and pausing to take a sip of Meade before replying, "We have the answers...  But we're not going to be able to read them.  Not yet."

Linnea sighed, and leaned back in her throne, "This ought to be interesting."

Over the next half-hour, each member of the group took turns recounting their past month of activities;  The clues they had followed to the Creaking Pines Tavern, the brawl, the map they had recovered from the Trolls, the train battle, and the documents it had yielded.

When the tale was completed, Siidran unconsciously mimicked his mate's pose, leaning back in his throne.  He steepled his claws before him, a thoughtful expression locking his eyes on the middle-distance as his mind churned over the new information.

It was Sildinar who spoke his thoughts first, "Troubling.  To say the least."

Siidran nodded slowly, "Though, I am not sure what is more troubling;  The fact that the PER, or some unknown entity, is using the Trolls to take slaves and attack our borders, or the fact that you may have sighted a Wisp well within the borders of civilized land."

Fyrenn tapped the surface of the table with a solitary talon, "Well the main thing is to get these documents decoded.  *If,* and that's one very big if...  If I saw a Wisp, then there's nothing we can do about it right now.  But these attacks?  If we can find out who's been orchestrating them, we can put a *permanent* end to them."

Sildinar nodded one curtly, "Agreed.  We have never allowed slavery, or provocation of our borders, to go unanswered."

Siidran glared out the window, as if searching the landscape for the culprit and skewering them with his gaze, "And we will not begin today."

He turned to gaze at Fyrenn, Varan, Kephic, and Carradan, his expression changing subtly to one of grim approval, "You have all done very well.  I will have the documents delivered to the Library and, hopefully, decrypted shortly."

Linnea placed a conciliatory claw on her mate's shoulder, then offered the group a soft, empathetic expression, "That will take at least several hours, if not days.  You should all rest easy while you have the opportunity."

Fyrenn raised his tankard, "I'll drink to that ma'am."

Kephic smirked and raised his tankard likewise, as did Carradan and Varan.  The latter nodded slowly, "Aye.  We all will."
> Chapter 6
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 8th, Gregorian Calendar

"And the power source?"

"Already integrated into the casing.  You'll find that in the usual PO box.  The trigger is part of the main driver board, and it's set to go off within an hour of coming online, so make your entry and exit plans accordingly.  The Potion is highly concentrated.  We've re-enforced the anti-shock coating, but all the same if I were you?  I wouldn't jostle the canister."

The Pony, a dull-bronze toned Unicorn, levitated the dangerous cargo to his partner slowly, as if he could convey the volatility of the substance within via the deliberateness of the gesture.  The Human, a jacket-clad man in his late thirties, hefted the opaque unassuming cylinder thoughtfully.

"Are you sure this is enough?  What about the building's countermeasures?"

The Unicorn shook his head slowly, "We're not targeting the building as a whole.  Just the conference room."

The man stopped and glowered in a mixture of concern, curiosity, and confusion, "Why? Full-bore Dispersion Cylinders aren't exactly easy to build these days...  With a bigger Potion reservoir we could..."

The Unicorn stopped, and held out a hoof, barring his partner's passage.  The pair stood, staring each other down in the center of the white, featureless corridor.  The Pony spoke first, his tone surprisingly harsh, "Ours is *not* to question.  Ours is to *obey.*"  He dipped his muzzle towards the floor, "Wait here.  I'll retrieve your passcards and car keys."

The equine ducked into a side-chamber, glaring back at the Human as the door slid closed, "Don't move.  Don't touch anything.  Don't talk to anyone."

The man stood and fidgeted for several moments.  He had no qualms about his capacity to complete his mission;  Rather, the PER facility was beginning to weigh on his subconscious.  The white plastic-like walls, off-gray floors, and white tiled ceilings made the space feel eerily antiseptic.

Beyond architecture, the personnel were the biggest contributor to the agent's sense of disquiet.  The few Humans he had seen coming and going did not speak to him, or to each other.  They kept their eyes on the floor and walked with a speed that seemed born of more than just purpose.

The Diamond Dog guards had, as far as he'd seen, all been wearing face-obscuring helmets that gave them a vicious, homogenous, and stark demeanor.

But worst of all by far, in the man's opinion, were the Ponies.  They were unlike the members of any PER cell he had ever worked with.  His current count was twelve, so he felt qualified to make assessments.

The Equines he had met so far, within the base confines, all seemed to be by his internal terminology 'off.'  It was true enough that most PER Ponies seemed perpetually uncomfortable, or tense.  But the ones the man had met on the premises of the new facility were different on a deeper level.  From *any* Pony.

They seemed cold.  As lifeless, antiseptic, and goal-oriented as the skin and bones of the facility itself;  The very antithesis of Equine culture, mentality, and even biology.

The man shuffled, and checked his watch.  His bronze colored compatriot had been gone for nearly fifteen minutes.  He jammed his hands into his pockets, in a futile effort to curtail his pent-up energy.

He might have managed to remain where he was standing until the Pony returned, had he not heard a muffled thump emanating from the chamber across the hall.  The door was like all the others in the corridor;  Off-white surface with a reflective sheen, a single pastel stripe denoting department, and a number stenciled into the bar in gray.

The man stared at the door, piercing it with his gaze as if willing his eyes to gain the sudden capacity to x-ray the metal and plastic.  He was on the cusp of writing the noise off as his imagination, when the thump came once more.  And louder.

He slowly removed his hands from his pockets.  The man glanced first right, and then left down the corridor.  He was alone, save for the buzzing of the fluorescent lights interspersed in the ceiling at regular intervals.

The would-be terrorist crossed the tiles slowly, his sneakers creating a soft squeak on the linoleum that seemed gratingly loud in the absence of louder aural background stimuli.

He had just reached the portal, when there was a soft hiss, and the doors began to slide open.  He barely had time to notice that the doors' lighter exterior covering belied a heavier unconventional blast-proof inner-layer as he ducked to the side, and shoved his hands back into his pockets.

To his surprise, two Unicorns exited the room, clad in white biophobic-textile lab coats.  They barely offered him a glance as they silently moved into the corridor, and away.  Eyes downcast, lips unmoving, muzzles locked in an expressionless thin line.

The man stood, shuffling, his own eyes fixed firmly on the ceiling, until the pit-pad of hooves had receded to inaudibility.  The door had already begun to close, and he had to make a flying leap to interpose his hand, and halt the locking cycle.  The portal irised back open, infrared sensors detecting the presence of an obstacle.

He stepped gingerly into the room, nearly tripping as his toes found a short set of steps down to a recessed lower floor.  He turned about in a full circle, taking stock of the chamber.

It was long, thin, and dark.  The walls and floor were a dim shade of gunmetal gray, and lighting came from recessed blue-toned LED floor units.  The rear wall was taken up with a holo-console.  The side walls, however, provided the most eye-catching feature;  Row upon row of peculiar tanks, stilted at a forty degree angle from vertical, and hooked to a bevy of glowing, pulsing, spinning machines at their apexes.

The agent took a cautious step towards one of the tanks, noting the presence of a small plexiglass slit near the top.  The cylinders were only half the height of a Human, sans crowning machinery, so the slit was slightly below eye level for him.

The Plexiglass was completely frosted-over.  He wiped his sleeve against it, but the frost was obviously on the interior surface.  He was on the verge of turning away when the jolt came.

There was a jarring 'THUMP' and something hit the plexiglass, momentarily clearing the frost.  The man jumped back reflexively, then peered closely at the slit, unsure of what he was seeing.  When he finally processed the image, the reflex to turn and run only increased.

He realized, with growing dread and confusion, that the misshapen object filling the viewport was a Pony muzzle.

The man had nearly reached the exit to the chamber, when the door opened on command from the corridor.  He beheld his partner standing in the entryway, framed by the glare from the hall lights.

The Pony spoke with a dour, yet calm, chilling tone, "I told you not to move."  He stepped aside gracefully, making room for three new forms in the hatchway.

The center creature was a midnight maned, lavender toned Unicorn;  The fluorescents of the ceiling created a striking pattern of star-like lights in her hair that was almost mesmerizing.  She was flanked by two Diamond Dogs, complete with unmarked white ceramic PER standard armor, and far less characteristic potion rifles normally wielded by troops on Conversion missions.

She smiled down on the man, then tossed her mane, "Take him.  We can always find someone else to deliver his asset."

The man had no time to glean any data from the words.  They fell on his ears as though he were deaf.  Shortly thereafter, the bright purple bolts of the Potion rifles impacted his chest, the energy passing through textiles, flesh, and bone to deliver aerosolized potion directly to his bloodstream, complete with anesthetic.

As he drifted into unconsciousness, his mind finally began to register the true horror of what was befalling him.  He just had time to see the Diamond Dogs eject the casing on an empty tube, and begin to hoist his body inside, before his world went permanently black.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Tenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn found his room exactly as he had left it.  The emotions the space evoked were equal parts welcome, and peculiar.  He had spent most of his adult life, Human and Gryphon, moving from place to place as part of his military career.  He rarely spent any length of time in one set of living quarters, and the last time he had called one truly his own had been decades previous.

It felt strange to step into the warm, welcoming space and be greeted by fond memories and personal possessions.  To be home.

At the same time, the sense of belonging brought with it a profound sense of peace.  It was easier to live an active, far-roaming life, he had found, when one had a home to return to.  Easier both emotionally, and logistically.

The room was reminiscent of the guest quarters he had occupied on his first visit the city, but more expansive;  Clearly designed for a longer duration stay.  The floor was made of precisely cut stones fitted together in intricate patterns and trimmed at certain junctures with silver and brass.

The center of the asymmetric oval chamber was occupied by a small hearth that mimicked the shape of the floor overall.  One entire wall, opposite the entry door, was given over to a crystalline window, that could be opened and closed from both inside and out by means of an intricate clasp of, what most would call, vaguely Celtic design.

Fyrenn glanced left from the window to his desk;  A carved oaken piece of furniture with a thin granite top inlaid with a variety of Gryphic patterns in bronze filigree.  The contents of surface were fairly neat and tidy.  Papers were arranged in small stacks beside a quill made from one of his own molted feathers resting in an inkwell, and a small mage lamp.

At the opposite side of the hearth was his bed.  More a nest of pillows on a flat round mattress than anything else.  The door to the corridor was closer to the desk than the right wall, and most of the back wall opposite the window was taken up with bookcases and a workbench.  A second door on the other side of the stone shelves led to a shower and sink tucked into a cozy alcove.

Betwixt the bookcases and the workbench there was a break, in which stood a frame, hooks, shelves, and drawers, for Fyrenn's weapons and armor.

The red Gryphon peeled off his accoutrements piece by piece, carefully examining each for damage that might need attention, before buffing it with a cloth from the workbench, and placing it lovingly in its place on the rack.

After all of his armor, his bow, and arrows had been closeted, he came at last to his sword.  Fyrenn flopped exhaustively into the chair at the workbench, and examined the hilt of the weapon with a fond smile.

The design was a symbolic cutie mark rune for knowledge;  A tribute to one of his closest friends whom he had, at the time the blade was forged, thought dead.

As he placed the weapon and its leather scabbard, complete with his clan crest, into the rack, he noticed a small package at the corner of the workbench.  He returned to a seated position, and slid the burlap lump entwined in coarse string to the center of the stone table.

One slice of his index talon later, and the cloth fell away to reveal a small steel tool.  Fyrenn grinned.  He had requested the special corkscrew-like object as a special task from the city's weapon forges.

He unclasped one of the larger drawers beneath the bench, and withdrew his latest project.  In his spare time, the Gryphon had taken to putting his Earthly weapons expertise to good use.  He had begun to pursue what some were calling a 'career' in tinkering, inventing, and occasionally perfecting, new weapons for the Kingdoms.

His most recent concept was one part smooth steel, one part sharp alloy, one part carved oak, and entirely menacing.  He laid the device on the bench, snatched up his new tool in one claw, and fitted the instrument to the business end of the weapon.  He gave the object a few clockwise turns, then removed it gingerly, blew away the shavings of steel and peered into the tube.

His sharp eyes were greeted with a consistent grooved screw-like pattern.  He grinned once more, a dangerous expression, as he contemplated the potential damage his creation might be capable of.

He sighed, set down the corkscrew, and gave in to his exhaustion, dragging himself to the hearth to set a fire before he took his rest.  A small steel bar lay between two of the stones, and he chipped at it with a talon until the sparks ignited the leftover material in the pit, resulting in simmering embers.

Before finally sleeping, he unclasped his window, allowing the crystalline curved slab to fall away into its recessed floor slot.  Cool night air flooded into the room, bringing with it the comforting sounds of the mountains and forest beyond.

Fyrenn collapsed lazily into his nest, and sighed.
It was good to be home.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 9th, Gregorian Calendar

Mr. Utah fiddled absently with his closed cigarette case.  The Retribution's torpedo room was, even in his eyes, an unsuitable place to introduce flammable materials.

Mr. Utah was surrounded on his left and right by tall, ominous racks of high-explosive torpedos, their sharp repeating magnetic waveguide fins giving them a dinosaur-like predatory aspect.  Behind him was the thin passage to the slightly more expansive rear of the room.  Before him, standing beside the launch tube one hatch, his subordinate was busy donning a pressure suit.

"You understand your objective?" 

The agent nodded once abruptly, "Perfectly sir."

The suited man twirled the cigarette case, eyeing the gear the agent was busy slithering into.  To Mr. Utah, it looked like little more than a mess of dark blue plates and white fabric.  The shoulder pads, arm gauntlets, and leg greaves had conspicuous hardpoints on them, obviously for latching some sort of brace into.

"Prepare for silent running.  All crew to general quarters." In concert with the announcement, a series of red lights on the bulkhead began to blink, washing out the colors of the torpedo room on and off in favor of a single blood-stained tone.

Mr. Utah's face bore a deathly serious aspect, his aging skin thrown into Lovecraftian relief by the alert lamps.  He placed a single hand on the agent's titanium-clad shoulder, "You must not fail.  Everything hinges on your success."

The man nodded a second time, again a single abrupt motion, "Understood."

Mr. Utah stepped back into the corridor as a pair of seamen squeezed into the weapon room, and began strapping the agent into a cylindrical metallic frame, bolting the superstructure to his armor via the external hardpoints.

Mr. Utah turned, and began making his way to the bridge as the seamen hoisted the cylindrical frame, agent and all, towards torpedo tube one.

He arrived just as the Captain did, and took up a position near the central scope to observe the first of several mission-critical phases.  The agent that the HLF was about to commit to his daring plan was an incredibly rare and unique asset.  If he died during phase-I of the operation it would not simply mean an end to the mission, but to Mr. Utah's career as well.

The Captain nodded in acknowledgement of Utah's presence, then turned to face the forward consoles of the bridge, "Helm, make your depth one-five-eight.  XO, rig the boat for stealth.  Weapons, prepare a firing solution."

The executive officer clasped both hands behind her back, and stepped forward, repeating the orders in a loud, staccato military cadence, "HELM! make depth *one-five-eight!* WEAPONS! prepare *firing* solution!"  She reached up and snatched a microphone/headphone device from an overheat holder, tucking it behind her ear, "Rig ship for stealth! Main reactor to standby/silent, open all capacitor junctions for backup power.  All crew to silence stations.  Secure exterior ports and shutdown communication suites.  EM restrictions in effect!"

Several moments of tense silence passed before the officer manning the operations terminal turned to the command platform, "Sir, ship reports rigged for stealth."

The helmsman spoke next, keeping her eyes fixed on the depth gauge as she manipulated the diving plane controls with a feather-light touch, "Depth is one-five-eight and steady.  Speed zero-five knots."

The Captain turned to the tactical alcove, staring over the shoulders of the two aiming officers as their faces were cast in the eerie glow of a dozen holoscreens and backlit keypads, "Weapons?"

After several more seconds of quiet typing, the senior tactical officer nodded once, and glanced up, "Firing solution prepared sir.  Tubes set for eight degree up-angle.  Mags charged at thirty percent nominal.  Torpedo room reports hatch shut, package loaded. Tube flooded, ready to fire."

The Captain spared a short nervous glance in Mr. Utah's direction, before folding his arms, and sighing, "Computer; 
Weapons posture one.  Release torpedo maglocks.  Safeties off."

He paused.  After an acknowledging tri-tone from the bridge speakers, he threw a forward gesture at the tactical alcove with one hand, "Fire one."

"Firing one!"

There was a faint, but noticeable vibration in the deck plating, but otherwise absolute silence.  Five seconds passed.  Then ten.  Then twenty.  Finally, the communications officer gave an 'ok sign, "We have a heartbeat from the casket.  Package intact, and the frame is ascending."

Mr. Utah smiled, ever so slightly, and withdrew his lighter.  As he prepared his traditional nicotine stress release, the Captain sighed with relief, "Helm, make depth four-five above bottom, and move us away to the South.  Manhattan harbor is a chancy place for a long-term stay."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Eleventh Day, Celestial Calendar

By the time Fyrenn arrived in the Library, still licking the edges of his beak to remove the last traces of his brown bread and shrimp breakfast, the rest of his companions had already arrived.

Tih’ré Seli’hn's library was legendary outside the bounds of the Kingdoms.  While the subject matter was decidedly different than that of the Canterlot Archives, the size was nearly equal.  The central chamber of the repository was a five story domed room, off of which jutted four vaulted chambers, four stories tall and wide enough for three Gryphons to stand with wings outstretched.

The dome of the center space mimicked the light conditions and color of the sky outside by use of advanced fiber-optic-like light trickery and well crafted lenses.

Each of the four main halls not only had bookshelves, pigeonholes, and locked compartments of their own, but the floors above the 'ground' level recessed back into the rock, leading to a warren of bookstacks, cubbies, and rooms.

Fyrenn loved the library.  Curling up with an ancient scroll, or a new piece of fictional literature, wasn't just an experience in absorbing more of his new culture.  When he was in the library, he felt as if the tomes that surrounded him were a direct link to history itself.  The smell of the paper was mixed with the rich undertones of leather bindings and covers, the tang of ink, and a comforting whiff of sun-warmed feathers.

The red Gryphon shook himself, trying to turn down the intensity of his 'goofy' smile as he approached his friends and family.  Kephic, Varan, Carradan, a Gryphon he didn't recognize, and Sildinar were all gathered around a large stone table near the base of a supporting arch in one of the vaulted antechambers.

As he approached, Fyrenn could see that they were talking in hushed tones about the documents the group had seized, which were strewn across the table in a messy overlapping hash, along with several sheets of scratch paper, quills, and inkwells.

Fyrenn stood on his hind legs and placed both foreclaws on the table, "So...  Where do we begin?"

Sildinar gestured to the unfamiliar male Gryphon.  His feathers were pleasant shades of brown, ranging from dark to light in stripes reminiscent of a barred owl, "Fyrenn, this is Tenek.  He is a master mathematician and linguist."

Fyrenn extended a claw, smiling, "Glad to know someone has the numbers covered."

Tenek chuckled as he exchanged a clawshake, "You are not fond of arithmetic?"

Fyrenn snorted and shook his head, "Math is wonderful, and incredible, and ever-useful...  As long as *I* don't have to do it.  I can mess up even the most basic long division.  I just don't have a head for numbers."

Tenek nodded slowly, "Well then as you say;  It's good that you have me.  From what little I've seen so far, I can tell you that this code is no simple cipher.  It is based on well thought out equations and will not be easy to crack."

Carradan snapped a forehoof against the stone floor, "Then we'd best get cracking."

Varan glowered, "That was reprehensible.  You are forbidden from speaking."

The salmon Pegasus rolled his eyes, "Who's going to stop me?"

Varan smiled slightly, and returned his attention to Tenek.

The latter nodded slowly, looking mildly bemused, "Quite...  Well in order to make a start on these I shall need several volumes."

Fyrenn jerked his head at Sildinar, "We can fetch those."

Tenek glanced between Kephic and Varan, "I will also need a large abacus, and further stores of scrap paper, if you would be so kind."

Stanley cocked his head, "And me?"

Tenek gestured to the quill and paper, "Your cutie mark identifies you as someone familiar with writing.  It will make all our lives easier if you handle the quill, while I juggle the numbers."

Carradan smiled, "Long as you don't mind if its all in common.  I'm gettin' pretty 'handy' with my hoof writing."

Varan inhaled slowly, and deeply, "But no better with your sense of humor."





The two Gryphons worked in silence for several moments, before Fyrenn finally spoke, "Things on Earth sound like they've taken a turn for the worse."

Sildinar shrugged his wings as he rifled through a collection of scrolls, "Climates fluxuate.  The situation is bad.  But not irrecoverable by any means."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, "Hutch?  Aston?  Seyal?  How are they getting along?"

The roan Gryphon smiled slightly, "General Hutchinson is exceedingly busy, but otherwise as well as can be expected for a man losing his city.  Aston is still in the thick of things, but the last I heard of her she had plans to seek a sponsor for Conversion.  She would be a welcome addition here."

Sildinar's smile took on a wistful air, "Seyal...  She is well."  He shook himself, and abruptly changed the focus of the topic, "Neyla too."

Fyrenn turned away abruptly, and began hovering beside a third story shelf, "Oh?"  He did his best to remove any hint of interest or emotion from his tone.  He failed miserably.

Sildinar grinned, "Oh yes.  She's in a Scalebuster unit now.  Highest kill-count in her division.  She is a quick study, of weapons and culture both."

The red Gryphon nodded again, keeping his eyes fixed intently on the book before him; 'Airstreams: The Dynamics of Thermoclines.' 

"Enjoying food, fun, and very big guns is she?"

"In my estimation?"  Sildinar laid down his scroll, and folded his forelegs, standing entirely on his hind limbs.  Fyrenn landed, and turned to face him.

The Gryphic prince eyed his younger companion knowingly, "Enjoying...?  I suppose.  But not as much as she ought be.  The word I might use is 'melancholy.' "

The corners of Fyrenn's beak turned down slightly, "Oh.  Well...  I'm sorry to hear that."  He sighed, and began leafing through the book he had withdrawn, "Here's hoping things improve for her."

Fyrenn snapped the book shut, and strode off down the corridor, trying to appear nonchalant.  Sildinar twirled his scroll absently, and murmured as he set off after his friend, "You'll have to do more than hope, I think."
> Chapter 7
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose between a thumb and forefinger.  His headache had begun shortly after his morning exercise, and had only intensified as the day progressed.

He glanced down at the holographic rectangle hovering over his desk and shook his head, grimacing.  Four dead, thirteen wounded, and a hole the size of a tractor in the Bureau steps.

At that point, the HOB had officially gone from 'problem children' to 'terrorists' in Hutch's book, and he had snapped.  Setting fires and turning over cars was one thing.  Setting off an IED was quite another.  As sad as the casualties made him, he was deeply relieved to finally have the one thing he had wanted more than anything since the situation began.  Precedent to act.

The General sat back, and stretched, preparing himself.  As he finished straightening his uniform jacket, the familiar two-tone sounded at his door.

"Come."

His office was swiftly filled by the ominous form of a glowering female Gryphon, two armored ConSec troopers, and the comparatively diminutive silhouette of a Human man.

Hutch gestured to the guest chair in front of his desk.  The man did not move.  Hutch glanced ever-so-slightly to his right, and without warning the Gryphon snagged the man's shoulders in her vice-like claws, and forcibly ensconced him in the chair, with surprising grace and gentleness all things considered.

He squirmed violently, and grunted, but it did little good, "How *dare* you!  You can't force me to say anything, I have *RIGHTS!*"

Hutch raised an eyebrow, "I think you misunderstand.  I'm not here to force you to say anything.  You're here to listen to me."

The man relaxed slightly, and glared, "There is nothing you have to say, that I want to hear, unless it is apology and surrender.  Take your filthy lies back, pack up that foul serum you keep, and ship it all away until Equestrians can come here on exclusively *Human* terms."

Hutch sighed, and flicked through the screens on his terminal, "Human terms...  Interesting choice of words considering all four people who died today, were Human."  The General paused, then glanced up, a dangerous light dancing in his narrowed eyes, "Mr. Reinmar Lansky.  Twenty eight, unemployed.  Criminal record dating back four years, recently added to the master Earthgov terrorist watch list, and ostensibly the leader of the local HOB movement as of last month.  Do you have any idea how much trouble you are in?"

Lansky spat, leaving a glistening cluster of mucus on the surface of Hutch's desk.  The general glared at it in disdain.

Reinmar glared across the intervening space, involuntarily shifting as the Gryphoness' claws continued to dig uncomfortably into his shoulders, "Do *you* have any idea how much trouble *you* are in General?  How many people on this planet are truly ready to buy into the drivel you all preach!?  Less than one percent.  Did you know that?  The rest of us will NOT be silenced forever!"

Hutch snorted;  Half a dry chuckle, half a disdainful exhalation.

"You want to know the irony in this Lansky?  I love freedom.  I love the freedom of little daily choices, freedom of species, freedom of faith, freedom of speech..."

The General leaned forward, and stared deep into the bedraggled man's eyes, "...And most of all I love the freedom we all have to simply *live.*"  Hutch's voice took a dangerous turn, the steel in his words piercing Lansky like a knife, "You.  And your people.  You have infringed on this freedom.  And you know what else I believe?"

Hutch leaned back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head, "That when a scumbag like you infringes on that freedom, you deserve to lose all of yours."

Lansky stared defiantly, "You can't silence us.  We have the right to be heard!  And to Assemble! Your superiors---"

The General interjected,  shaking his head, "Sure...  On public soil.  Funny thing?  Smart-ass?  Bureaus are sovereign independent soil, jointly operated by the races of the Conversion Accords.  Your Earthgov citizenship rights?  They don't count here.  You have no right to assemble, and you?  Personally?  Have no right to an attorney.  No right to remain silent.  No right to a Human jury trial."

Lansky sneered, "Oh really?"

The Gryphoness tightened her claws, and the man winced.  Hutch nodded, "Really.  See, this is partly Gryphon soil.  Dragon too.  I'm sure either of them would be more than happy to begin extradition procedures on you.  Do you know what will happen to you if you are convicted of an attack on Gryphon soil?"

Lansky glanced up at the Gryphon holding him to his chair.  She grinned, and clacked her beak suggestively, the knife-sharp yellow edge glittering under the room's lights.

For the first time, the man looked afraid.  Hutch seized on the opportunity, "I want this to go smoothly.  You want to avoid becoming a ceremonial execution meal."  At the word 'meal'  Lansky visibly blanched.  The General smirked, and tapped one finger on his desk slowly, "You go back out there.  You tell that uncivilized crowd of terrorist-wannabes you call a 'movement,' to disperse and go home nice and quiet-like...  And I won't arrest you on the spot."

Hutch stood, straightening his jacket reflexively.  He turned to stare out the window at the courtyard below, where the newly-intensified standoff between the JRSF and the HOB was framed in the stark contrast of emergency vehicle lights, "If you fail to comply, I will rescind all no-fire orders for those troops down there.  And you will suffer the fury of Gryphons, and the fire of Dragons.  None of you will leave with all your limbs intact, and most of you will leave in body bags, and frankly?  I don't give a damn about the political consequences, because I have one hell of a migraine, and I'm tired of dealing..."

Hutch turned, and slammed a fist into the desk, causing the still-moist globule of Lansky's spit to fly from the surface onto the carpet, "...with your SHIT!"  Hutch's tone instantly reverted to a calm, almost amicable tenor, with only a hint of sarcasm,  "Have I made all this clear for you?"

Lansky nodded, barely able to move as he began to vent a multitude of bodily fluids onto Hutch's guest chair.

The General glowered in disgust, "And before you go?  Clean my damn chair."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn stared at the collection of mesmerizing characters, and yawned, beak opening wide in an expression of pure exhaustion.  Amongst Gryphons it was, he had been delighted to discover, quite normative to publicly yawn and sneeze without shame, or conciliatory gestures, or need for apology.

The Red Gryphon was thoroughly sick of the myriad lines of encoded information that had become his waking obsession, to the point that he had more than a small temptation to shred the offending parchment sheets in his claws and scatter the giblets to the four winds.

In truth, Fyrenn was used to working far longer hours, and on far more difficult problems.  But cryptography was simply not within his skill sets.  The frustration of being unable to offer anything concrete to the investigation was compounding with the frustration of having an unsolvable problem to generate stress.

Fyrenn held no delusions.  He knew he was the sort who could easily be tormented for years by an unsolved problem, particularly one with such high stakes.

The Gryphon reached for his coffee, and took a long satisfying gulp of the hot liquid.  The large stone tankard, sized to the average Gryphon claw, also made a good insulator, keeping the drink piping hot for hours after brewing.  Out of all the tiny life-pleasures of coming to Equestria, real coffee was close to the top of Fyrenn's list of favorites.

A voice brought him out of his reverie so sharply, that he had to make a conscious internal effort to keep from flinching, 

"Keeping busy?"

Fyrenn glanced up to see King Siidran peering over his shoulder at the parchments scattered before him.  The red Gryphon spent several seconds trying to figure out how his monarch had snuck up on him so adeptly, and so casually, before finally simply accepting that hundreds of years of seniority doubtless bestowed rewarding experience and skill.

Fyrenn inclined his head respectfully, and shifted to the side so Siidran could pick up the parchments, and rearrange them, "I'm afraid I'm not one for math.  Would you believe I can't even do long division, or basic algebra very well?  Consequence of being raised in a computerized society."

Siidran chuckled, a low but clearly amused sound that came from somewhere deep in his throat, ruffling his neck feathers slightly as it passed through his beak, "In your case, that's not a serious concern.  You have plenty of time to re-learn what was lost."

Fyrenn stood, and stretched;  Forelegs extended like a cat, wings outspread momentarily.  The gesture brought immense relief to his stress-knotted muscles.

"Time for myself, yes.  But I don't expect we have much time to solve this code, if we want to get any decent use out of it.  When I was an Earthgov soldier we were taught that plans can change within days, or even hours, of a discovered breach in opsec."

Siidran tilted his head by a fraction of a degree, "Op-sec?"

"Sorry;  Operational Security.  There's Opsec, and Opspec;  Operational specification.  Each informs the other, and if the former is breached, you can bet your extra rations that the latter is going to change.  Its usually a logistical nightmare, so I suppose we've accomplished *something* already..."

Siidran gently pushed the coded missives aside, and gestured to the space around them.  The library had dimmed as day had turned to night, and the skydome had gone jet black, dotted with pinpricks of intense starlight, "I understand the advice is trite.  But perhaps you should take a moment and focus on something external to your problem."

Fyrenn glanced over to the tables where his friends and family were working with Tenek, and his abacus.

The device was nothing at all like the object, of the same name, from ancient Earth history.  Gryphon abaci were complex pieces of steel and brass calculating machinery that had more in common, visually, with the Antikythera mechanism, and could produce calculation results easily as complex as a primitive computer.

Fyrenn briefly pointed to the device with a talon, "An impressive mechanism.  How long has our civilization been using this type of thing?"

Siidran smiled, "Longer than the memory of my father's father."

Fyrenn whistled, "Not moving very fast in terms of technology, are you?"

The King inclined his head slightly, and sighed, "Sadly no.  We are content with what we have, and this is good...  Up to a point."  Siidran turned and fixed Fyrenn with a serious, piercing gaze that startled the younger red Gryphon, "But Fyrenn?  There is such a thing as being too content with the status quo.  I see it affect not only our race, but many individuals, to their detriment."

Siidran stood, and began to pace around, Fyrenn, a move that disconcerted him even more thoroughly than the continued stern gaze of the monarch, "Do not be content to live with merely that which you can already achieve.  We are at our best when we strive to go beyond our boundaries.  Your Human forerunners' history is replete with examples of this lesson.  Do not settle for simplicity, or loneliness.  Be bold."

The King sighed, and seemed to relax into a less urgent, more remorseful mood, "Our race is dying a slow death of satisfaction.  It is true that the lust for conquest can lead to ruin...  But was it not your own most successful rulers who believed humanity had to "expand or die" ?  It is true that we are strong...  But we must *grow* as a culture."

Fyrenn cocked his head.  Siidran nodded, "Would you believe it?  More of us die now than are born each year.  We need to explore, and to discover new lands, lest we become *too* content with what we have.  And we must learn to make new things;  New technologies and ideas, sometimes merely for the sake of evolving."

The Red Gryphon nodded, "And this is part of why you were willing to open yourselves to Conversion?  To let those who were once something else be a seamless part of our whole?"

Siidran smiled slightly, "Exactly.  My generation is too old, and too set in its ways.  But your generation?  My son's generation?  You could bring about a golden age not seen, or known, since the days of the first-clans."

Fyrenn mirrored his ruler's smile, "If I were you sir?  I wouldn't worry.  I've never been the sort to be content with status quo."

Siidran's expression fell slightly, and he raised an eyebrow sternly, "Haven't you?  Fyrenn..." The King sighed, and shook his head slowly, "Not all struggle, or adventure, or evolution, is about civilization, or invention, or politics...  Everything starts with the heart, and the heart lives with the family."

Before Fyrenn could even begin to process a response, Siidran offered him a small parting smile, and padded regally away down the length of the room, vanishing out of sight behind the doors long before Fyrenn had even begun to suppress his swelling tide of emotions.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar

"What do you suppose we're doing here?"

Sorven's question managed to pull Neyla from her in-depth examination of the building they had entered, "I assume we are going to receive new orders..."  The Gryphoness trailed off as she returned to scrutinizing the architecture.

The facility was in a mostly-complete state, but scattered about was evidence that parts of the site were still under construction.  The complex was slated to be the new North American headquarters of Earthgov, and it was easily the most modern human building Neyla had seen.

While it was true that most buildings in human cities were, by anyone's standards, 'futuristic,' the Vancouver facility had, if possible, even more sweeping edgeless glass windows, minimalist brushed metal supports, and visible holo technology.

The floors seemed to be mostly marble, and they made a satisfying clack as Neyla's claws connected with them, every time she took a step.  The lobby was an elongated 'T' shape, mostly made of sweeping transparent arches, and Neyla spied Tirinel around the corner well before they arrived at the junction of the passages.

The silver dragon filled much of the horizontal space, but had a surprising amount of vertical clearance.  It dawned on Neyla that the entire complex had likely been constructed with multiple species in mind;  Perhaps a first for a major Earth governmental complex.

Neyla gestured between her comrade in arms, and Sorven, "General Sorven, this is Tirinel, my combat partner.  Tirinel, this is General Sorven, she was present during the 2114 Manhattan attacks, in central operations."

Tirinel inclined his head slightly, a deep satisfied rumble emanating from his chest, passing through his legs, and vibrating the floor, "It is agreeable to meet you General.  Have you been summoned to this briefing as well?"

Sorven nodded twice rapidly, "You got it.  No one in the command chain will breathe a word about what's going on, so we're in for something intriguing, at minimum."

The trio continued down the corridor in silence, until they reached a bank of elevators.  Sorven pressed the call holopad, while her companions simply beat their wings, and began to rise. The final portion of the hall had been thoughtfully designed such that there was a large-dragon-sized shaft of unobstructed space running up the height of the structure.

The wind from Tirinel's enormous, glimmering, membranous pinions blew Sorven's hair into a wild tangle as she waited for the lift.  She arrived several moments later on the fourth floor, glaring at the silver Dragon as she tried with only moderate success to smooth her tresses.

Neyla tried, and mostly failed, to suppress a snort of amusement.  Sorven shifted her glare to the Gryphoness, who responded with only a quick smirk.

The briefing room turned out to be quite close to the lift, and the space was no less impressive than the lobby.  While the room likely could have been made several orders of magnitude smaller without sacrificing usability for most, Tirinel would have never been able to fit comfortably had the ceiling not been nearly two stories tall.

The space was shaped like nothing so much as a compressed ovoid dome.  Much of the roof was comprised of interlocking triangular plexiglass tiles, and the rest of similarly sized and shaped matte gray holoprojection paneling, its purpose given away only by the tiniest of glimmers from the glass focusing lenses tucked into the corners of each plate.

Dominating the center of the room, framed by the rain-laden Vancouver sky, was a solid obsidian table surrounded by chairs.  The furniture was multi-species in all of its form factors, the floor was thinly carpeted in a deep shade of blue, and the final feature to catch Neyla's eye was a large hologram of the Conversion Accords Seal floating over the table.

A variety of Ponies, Humans, and even a pair of Gryphons, were already seated around the table.  Several spots were obviously open to Neyla, Sorven, and even Tirinel, whose place was designated merely by a large break in the chairs.  Draconic furniture was seldom seen, and even more seldom used.

Neyla just managed to take her seat before the final arrival made his way in through a secondary access door.  She recognized the salt-and-pepper haired man immediately as General Miles Lantry.  He was a highly influential member of Earthgov military command, and one of the biggest sponsors of the JRSF.

Neyla was also vaguely aware that he had done something to elicit Fyrenn's distaste, but apparently nothing irreparable.

Lantry strode up to the table, and swept two fingers across the the surface before him.  The hologram above the table vanished summarily.

"Folks.  I'm General Miles Lantry, for those of you who don't know me, and I'm pretty darn positive you're all wondering why you're here."

The General tapped the table in several spots, manipulating small holographic interface elements, until a data-stream appeared behind him, projected over the glass portion of the room's dome.

Lantry gestured with one hand, continuing to face the assembled soldiers, commanders, and technicians, "To break this down succinctly;  Every so often, an Equestrian dignitary will decide to make a public visit to Earth.  Usually one of its Monarchs.  When that has happened, heretofore, the Earthgov military has been primarily responsible for liaising with their royal protection, and providing escort while on-planet.  Not anymore."

Lantry cycled the data through a fast-paced bevy of recordings, mostly detailing recent PER and HLF military escalation, "The situation has changed people.  We are fighting conflict on a post-Human level, and that means a post-Human way of doing things is the rule from now on.  Not the exception."

The General paced slowly back and forth across the width of the room, staring down the length of the table as he continued to speak, "From now on, whenever we have an off-planet visitor, we will be tapping the best performers from a variety of ConSec, JRSF, and Special Forces positions to comprise a protection detail.  You're all here, because her Royal Highness Princess Celestia is coming here, in two weeks, to be part of the dedication of these facilities, and to issue a new public statement on behalf of the Equestrian members of The Accords.  You will be her protection detail."

The revelation brought forth a chorus of whispered commentary from the assembled creatures.

Sorven leaned over and whispered to Neyla, "Dunno about you, but I didn't see that coming."

Lantry smacked his palm against the back of his chair, "And with any luck, Kara, neither will anyone else."

Neyla wasn't sure if Sorven was more embarrassed by Lantry's use of her first name, or that his aging ears had somehow picked out her covert commentary from six yards away.

For his part, the General cracked a small smile, "Let's get to work shall we?"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn sighed as he fiddled with his fish.  The dish had been cold for quite some time, and he half-heartedly made his way over to the hearth to warm it.  For the second time.

He had moved to the Great Hall after a rushed breakfast, and had stayed there well past noon meal, still staring at his assigned sheet of code.  He felt no closer to a solution.  He sighed, and speared the filleted fish neatly with a talon as it began to sizzle, opting to hork down the majority of the food in a single gulp.

He was on the verge of beginning a new pacing spree, when Tenek and Kephic arrived through the Hall's north-east stairwell entrance.  Fyrenn raised an eyebrow in question.  Tenek sighed, and placed his abacus on the main table, "As much as it pains me to admit it, this code is uncrackable.  At least, uncrackable with the equipment we have here, and my knowledge."

Fyrenn cocked his head, and Kephic sighed, placing the remaining sheafs of meaningless hash on the table beside the mathematical instrument, "Tenek did his best.  But the formulae associated with the encryptions are too complicated to crack, even with our best abacus."

Tenek nodded morosely, "I have never seen anything like it before.  It is almost as if the encryption were based on math created by a machine orders of magnitude more complex than our best equipment."

Fyrenn's head snapped around to face the mathematician.

"Say that again."  

The urgency in his words brought an expression of concern, and curiosity, to Tenek's beak.

The Gryphon in question stammered slightly, "Ah...  Well it seems, to my eyes, that this encryption would have had to have been created by a larger, more powerful, more complex mathematical machine."

The red Gryphon sat back on his haunches abruptly, eyes slowly unfocusing in shock, "That's it.  That's *exactly* it!"  His face became more animated, and he swiveled to stare at Kephic, eyes alight with the fire of discovery, "Where do you think all the encryptions and codes on Earth come from?"

Kephic's eyes widened by several centimeters as he finally guessed at Fyrenn's conclusions.  He spoke haltingly, "So...  You are suggesting...  That a computer was used to encrypt this information?"

Fyrenn threw up his claws, "Is there anything *else* in either world that could create math that complicated?"

The speckled Gryphon shook his head slowly, "No.  Not when you put it like that."

The red Gryphon nodded abruptly, "Right.  So now..."

His brother finished his thought, "Now we find a computer capable of decrypting these sheafs?"

Fyrenn nodded.  Kephic sighed, "Earth is a several-day trip away.  More for the return journey.  By then, these may well have become *entirely* useless."

Fyrenn stood frozen for several moments.  Then a grin began to spread over his beak, "And what if I told you I knew a way for us to get these decrypted in less than two days?  Assuming we fly hard, and fast..."

Tenek snorted, "I'd say you could work miracles."

Fyrenn's smile widened, "Prepare to be amazed."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 10th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch started abruptly at sound of a voice, clearing its throat, over his right shoulder.  He spun to see the last person he expected; who was also, incidentally, the last person on the planet he *wanted* to see.

"Miss Loryss."

She tossed her tangled nest of gray hair, "It's Councilor now.  Actually.  You said I should pencil myself in.  So here we are."

Hutch didn't even bother to remind her that he had requested she have his secretary pencil her in.  He knew that there would be no getting rid of the offending politician, now that she had come all the way to the Bureau.

The General gestured to the seat across from him.  The Bureau cafeteria was mostly empty, given that he had intentionally selected a late hour for his lunch.  The usual dull roar of friendly chatter had given way to the softer chatter of scattered conversations, and the hum of the central heating.

Menera took her seat in a manner that managed to come off as both prim, and arrogant, to the point that Hutch wished he could simply upend his food tray onto the Councilor's lap.  He even considered the option seriously for several seconds.

Before he could make up his mind, however, Loryss began the conversation, "I was very interested to discover that my path to the Bureau was...  Unimpeded today."

Hutch snorted, grinning in-spite of himself, "So you saw what became of the HOB?  They cleared out pretty damn quick once the Gryphons put on their first intimidation display.  Haven't seen a single one for hours."

Loryss nodded slightly, the motion of her head inclined oddly, almost as if to make the gesture intentionally grating, "Indeed.  That is why I am here."

The General's hope for a swift and congratulatory ending to the encounter was dashed instantly, as Menera continued, "General...  Don't you think you could have been a bit more..."

Hutch cocked his head in abject confusion.  Loryss finally settled on a word, "...Patient?"

The General stared for several seconds, open mouthed, "...Patient?"

Loryss nodded slowly, "Mmmhmm.  If you will recall, Mr. Hutchinson, we discussed how the Bureau Occupation movement, while misguided, were protesting very real wrongs.  Did we not?"

Hutch gripped his juice glass tightly, the force of his grip causing the plastic to make a nearly inaudible squealing noise, "Misguided is when someone smashes a store window in frustration, and forgets to take a bath for a week because they're too busy hoisting a protest sign.  These dillwads detonated an IED on our doorstep.  Four people *died.*  That's not misguided ma'am.  That's terrorism."

Loryss sighed deeply.  The sound bore a patronizing tone, as if she felt she were trying to explain a complex topic to a difficult child, "General;  Did it ever occur to you that one terrorist is not enough to call into suspicion the whole of a legitimate protest?  Much less remove them illegally?"

Hutch chuckled slightly, the sound nearly as patronizing as the Counselor's own tone, "Miss, I may be known for doing my job with a bit of a heavy hand...  But I'm also known as a stickler for protocol.  I checked the precedent, I followed our opspec, and I did quite frankly, the only thing that made any sense.  Scaring them off prevented the need, and removed the chance, for further bloodshed."

The Councilor shook her head, "And it never occurred to you that, starting with the repeal of the moving tax today, the HOB might simply disperse once there was nothing left to protest?"

Hutch's eyes came so far out of his head that Loryss recoiled visibly.  The General's tone lost all pretense at respect, "Are you out of your damn *mind*?"  He threw out an arm, gesticulating in the general direction of the lobby, "Some idjits have no crusade beyond *having* a crusade.  You start to capitulate?  They will take you for every cent you're *worth.*  And sure, probably, they weren't all terrorists...  But you have to admit this all stinks of the HLF.  The Humans-Occupy movement was a perfect spawning ground for homegrown Liberation Front bombers."

Loryss sighed, and sat back, as if offended, "Are you *quite* finished?"

The General shook his head emphatically, "No ma'am I ain't.  But I think I'd better stop before I say something not suited for mixed company, or something that upsets your prim-rosy view of the world too badly."

The Councilor stood, and huffed, "I *had* hoped to discuss this calmly General...  But I can see that the rumors surrounding your command style are decidedly understated."  She began to step away, then turned abruptly, "Since you will broker no civil discussion, allow me to lay some new 'opspec' for you."

The way the woman used the military term made Hutch want to stand up, lunge across the table, and strangle her with her own pink fuzzy purse.  Loryss punctuated each word with a slow nod, as if it would somehow impress her directive on Hutch the way a parent might impress an order on a naughty child, "Keep your hands *off* the HOB."

Before Hutch could speak, she barreled ahead, "You are not to infringe their rights again.  And if I hear of any such punitive action, I will most certainly take similar steps against your command.  Are we clear?"

Hutch raised an eyebrow, his scowl hardening to blood-curdling intensity, "Ma'am...  With no respect of any kind, seeing as how I can't muster any;  You're not in my chain of command.  None of your fellow Councilors are.  This is Bureau turf, so I have every right to enforce JRSF security measures.  With absolute impunity.  And if you show up here without an appointment again, I will call a couple of my fine feathered friends, and have you escorted out in a way that will make you feel very much like a shrew in a hawk's beak.  Is that clear enough for you?"

Loryss glared, "We will speak of this again.  And I'm afraid you won't enjoy it."

As the irate politician departed, Hutch sat down to finish his meal, mumbling, "Rules be damned, I'll make sure you won't either."  





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn smiled, as he turned his helmet over and over in his claws.  The armor, like most of the gear Gryphon Knights wore and used, was of his own personal design.  He had even had a claw in its forging, under the close tutelage of master armorers.

He set the protective covering on the oaken table, and turned to ensure one last time that his pack was secure.  Next to him, his brothers and Carradan were repeating his routine, except that in the Pegasus' case, he was busy cinching down a set of canvas saddlebags.

As Fyrenn finished tending to his pack, he spied Siidran and Linnea entering the hall.  Linnea went around to each member of the party in turn, issuing encouragement in her usual motherly fashion.

Before she made it down the line to Fyrenn, Siidran gestured for him to come to a more private corner of the room.

The red Gryphon snatched up his helmet, and quizzically obeyed his King's summoning gesture.  Siidran offered him a smile, "I just wanted a moment to bid you farewell.  Your journeys often run long, and we see each other far too little."

Fyrenn smiled, and dipped his head in respectful appreciation, "Perhaps we will see each other again sooner."

Siidran offered Fyrenn a claw, "I would enjoy that greatly."

Fyrenn reached out and grasped Siidran's foreleg in the customary fashion, which reminded him of the medieval predecessor to the handshake.

The rest of the group had already departed for the Concourse, and Fyrenn loped through the corridors to catch up.  He arrived outside just in time to note the presence of Sildinar, garbed in armor and a pack of his own.

Linnea had apparently just concluded a farewell embrace with her son, and as she passed Fyrenn on her way into the mountain, she smiled, "Fair winds Fyrenn.  Return soon;  Food and fellowship reside eternally in these halls, and their doors are always open to you."

To his surprise, she then placed a wing over him briefly, in a motherly hug, before quietly padding away into the corridor.

As Fyrenn joined the group, looking slightly bemused, Carradan chuckled, "If she could, I betcha she'd want to be mom to every orphan in both worlds."

Sildinar raised an eyebrow and glared sharply, "*If* she could?"

Carradan scooted to the side, "I think I'll fly beside Fyrenn this leg.  On the outside of the formation."

The group laughed heartily as they took to the sky, wings framed by the setting sun as they sped south, and east.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twelfth Day, Celestial Calendar

"I fail to understand."

Three's muzzle twisted into a grimace, "We're not here to understand.  We're here to observe and report."

His partner, Four, shook his head slowly, "I realize that.  But my confusion disturbs me."

Three sighed in exasperation, ruffling his wings to display his annoyance, "How so?"

Four gestured with a pastel colored hoof, towards the structure nearest them, "What is its purpose?  Aesthetics?"

Three shook his head, "How should I know?  And what does it matter?"

Four was on the verge of pressing his point, when Three smacked his right foreleg with a hoof, silencing him, "She's here!" The revelation was delivered in a whispered monotone.

The pair of Pegasi ducked behind a stray wisp of cloud, and watched as the object of their attentions exited her place of work, and took to the air.  Four hissed, "It is most definitely our target.  How do we proceed?"

Three hovered for a moment, hoof against his chin in a pensive expression.  Finally, he spoke, "You follow her to her residence.  I will alert the others."

As Four prepared to follow the target, he cast a quick glance back at his superior, "Then...  We will be moving soon?"

Three's eyes flashed green, as the sun caught their secondary layer of refractive lenses, "Soon."

The pair of not-quite-Pegasi each darted off in a separate direction, leaving behind the structure that had been such a source of confusion to number four.

The Cloudsdale Rainbow Factory.
> Chapter 8
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Thirteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

The group had flown non-stop, all through the night.  Time had become a precious commodity, and everyone was keenly aware of each passing minute.  Even Carradan seemed to have gained an unnatural second wind.

As the mountains fell away into forests and plains once more, the first hints of orange and pink began to smudge the eastern horizon.  Fyrenn tilted the angle of his wings, and allowed the change in airflow to send him drifting across the formation, until he was beside Sildinar.

He beat his wings in amiable silence for several minutes, before speaking his mind, "You said things had deteriorated.  Back on Earth..."  Fyrenn turned to ply his friend with a questioning stare, "How far have things gone?"

Sildinar sighed, his eyes remained fixed on his flight path as he spoke, "Nothing irreparable has been said or done...  But things are the worst they have been in many years.  The phrase most in the Bureau seem to favor is 'perfect storm.'  You are aware of the events surrounding Diamond Dog Potion?"

Fyrenn nodded, wincing involuntarily, "My last visit was only a few weeks after the start of the temporary program shutdown.  I remember the rioting, and truth be told it's part of the reason I haven't gone back in recent years.  I suddenly found I'd lost much of my desire to stay in touch with my former species.  The legitimate grievances aside, they behaved in ways I can't condone.  Especially the leaders."

Sildinar grunted, "Yes, as you say, the grievances of the common people are legitimate.  No one was truly adequately warned as to how powerful a sway the pack mentality would hold over their beliefs, desires, and impulses.  Humanity values freedom nearly as much as we Gryphons do.  They had a right to know what they were entering in to, a right that the Diamond Dogs willfully ignored.  And Earthgov certainly failed to do their due diligence, perhaps to the point of complicity."

Fyrenn inclined his head, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and assume there's more to the current spate of ill will?"

"Earth's Government was eager to keep Conversion enrollment numbers positive.  They instituted a series of strong controls on the Diamond Dog program, and then removed the temporary hold on applicants."  Sildinar's expression told Fyrenn everything he needed to know about the results of the decision.  He loosed a query nonetheless.

"And that went badly?"

Sildinar nodded slowly, "Badly indeed.  In and of itself, it was far too soon to attempt a restart of the diamond Dog program.  People felt, and rightly so, that it was disrespectful to the initial victims.  Some argued, and for your own knowledge our kind agreed, that the program should be ended and never restarted.  But our advice was not heeded, and there were other latent consequences.  In the past, there has never been an illicit market for potion beyond the PER.  Ponification is open to all, and our serum kills the kind of people who would be seeking it illicitly after a rejection.  But Diamond Dog serum..."

Fyrenn stiffened, the beat his wings more swiftly, to make up for his momentary lapse, "Of course.  Ponies have a natural non-violence compulsion, we have a natural set of moral safeguards..."

"And Diamond Dogs have neither.  Aside from the pack instinct, and other strong aspects of their baser nature, they are free to use violence as a weapon of first resort.  Given that our program is restricted to applicants, that rejects rarely if ever survive the serum, and that Ponies carry a stigma amongst those with fewer scruples because of their desire to retain the ability to commit harmful acts with abandon..."

The red Gryphon finished the thought, "...A Black Market for Diamond Dog Potion?"

"Precisely."  Sildinar cast a glance at his companion for the first time, eyes filled with concern and disgust.

"Within a few months it was being sold on the street.  After that, it was not long before it became part of what your media calls 'gangland.'  Both native criminal cartels, and transplant Diamond Dog mercenaries, began abusing the resentment of those looking for a way to convert without sacrificing their ability to be violent, nor joining themselves to a moral compass.  The majority of their victims have either been barred from our program, or found psychologically unsuitable for Draconification."

Fyrenn grimaced, "And by the time they realize they've been duped?"

"It is far too late.  The pack owns them.  Body and Mind.  Forever."

"That's not how it was intended to be." Fyrenn's voice cracked slightly, his sadness on behalf of the lost finally getting the better of him.

Sildinar shook his head wistfully, "No indeed;  The pack is meant to be an expression of family ties, in its own unique way, as well as a safeguard against baser impulses.  Instead, the Troll clans have twisted it into a vessel to *serve* their greed.  The impact to crime on Earth has been...  Unfortunate.  And that is still only part of the problem."

Fyrenn inhaled sharply, "There's more?"

Sildinar nodded once more, his beak turned down in an expression of melancholy, and ears laid back slightly, "Bureau public relations had already been badly damaged by the issues with Diamond Dog Conversion.  Then the Barrier arrived at New York.  To most of Humankind, disasters are curiously 'un-real' in their minds, until they are faced with an oncoming calamity directly.  Now that the Earth is faced with the imminent loss of one of its largest cities..."

"Let me guess...  A resurgence of xenophobia?  Political shakeups?  Protests?  Anger?  Fear?"
Fyrenn sighed and cast his gaze upon the pines below, taking comfort in the myriad hues of green, all suffused with the gold of the rising sun.

"Sadly, you are correct.  Human moods and desires fluctuate quickly.  The climate on Earth has become exceedingly polarized, particularly in areas that will soon succumb to the bubble.  Those who have an abundance of time left have a smaller stake in the matter, but those in the immediate path of Equestria are being forced to take a side."

Fyrenn inhaled again, slowly and deeply, "And all we can do is try to convince them to take ours."

"Indeed."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 11th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch glanced up from his DaTab, and smiled, as Commander Aston entered his office, "Commander.  Here to deliver the new batch of recruits?"

Aston snorted, and shook her head, smiling slightly, "You haven't been sleeping much have you.  That's tomorrow."

The General's face fell, "Is it?  I must be slipping... That... *shrew* Loryss was after me again yesterday."

The Commander grimaced, and took a half-seated position on Hutch's desk.  The surface was mostly clear, for the first time in years. The more the Fort Hamilton shutdown forged ahead, the more Hutch felt a desire to spend less time in the office there, and more time in his temporary Bureau office.

The General chalked it up to an instinctive understanding that the Bureau would soon be nothing more than a memory.  Whether he was willing to admit it to others or not, Hutch knew, and accepted internally, that some of the best memories of his career were associated with the Manhattan Bureau.

He sighed, and set his DaTab down, leaning back in his chair and taking a moment to drink in the sight of Aston, framed against the rising Equestrian sun as its rays crossed the barrier, wove between the city's mega-skyscrapers, and finally came to rest in her hair giving it a halo-like ethereal quality.

"So if you're not here to bring me fresh meat, what's the occasion?  Or did you just come to renew our weekly lunch date?"

Aston chuckled softly, "You *wish* we had that kind of time.  I haven't slept a full night since the evacuation began.  I know you haven't either.  No, this time I brought you an unexpected visitor."

Hutch looked up sharply to see a well dressed, slightly older female figure standing just beyond the frame of his door.  He started, in recognition, and then cocked his head sideways, piercing Aston with a questioning glance, "She say why she wanted to see me?"

The commander shrugged, "Ask her yourself."  As she pivoted through the open sliding semi-transparent door, Aston turned and offered Hutch a parting smile, "And...  On the off chance you *do* find some spare time in your schedule... I'm free for half an hour after twenty-hundred."

Aston excused herself quietly.  Her presence was swiftly replaced by a tall, imposing woman in an immaculate business suit.  Hutch smiled.  Not quite with the warmth one might reserve for a friend, but with no small amount of genuine professional pleasure and conviviality.

"Councilor Martins.  What brings you to New York?"

Hutch stood and proffered a hand, which Martins grasped and shook firmly, returning his smile with nearly the same precise level of warmth and professionalism.

"Business.  As always.  Commander...  You recall that I once did you and your favorite Lieutenant a favor.  I've come to collect on your payment.  I need your advice...  And your backing."

The General sighed and swept his gaze across the carpet momentarily, as if he would find some solace in its fibers.  He brought his eyes back up, and locked them with the Councilor's, "Am I going to regret putting myself in your debt?"

Martins grinned slightly, in a rare display of amusement, "No.  I don't think you will.  Tell me...  Do you enjoy astronomy?"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Thirteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn would never have admitted it aloud, but he was glad to have a moment to stop and take in the afternoon.  Even if it was brief.  The stream the group had selected as their rest site, and hunting ground, was a beautiful pastoral setting.  Fyrenn found it hard to keep his eyes off the scenery.

Sildinar and Carradan had stayed with him to help refill water canteens, while Kephic and Varan had volunteered to hunt down a quick meal.

As the red Gryphon bent to allow the cool, clear water of the brook to flood into the leather water-skin clutched in his claws, he heard Carradan strike up a conversation with Sildinar, "So.  Why did you suddenly decide to hitchhike with us poor bums at the last minute?  And don't tell me you just wanted to go sightseeing..."

Fyrenn grinned slightly, and dipped his beak directly into the stream for a quick sip, even as his canteen finally reached capacity.  He had wanted, from the moment the group departed, to ask the Gryphon Prince the same question, but he was too respectful of his friend's privacy to simply come right out and pry without an invitation.

Carradan, on the other claw...  Fyrenn chuckled to himself.  Once a reporter, always a reporter.

He raised his head in time to see Sildinar respond.  The roan Gryphon did not seem perturbed by the question in the slightest, "I am travelling with you at the behest of the Lunar Monarch.  She has reached out to my father for assistance in... A sensitive matter requiring the type of tactical skill that Gryphons naturally possess.  Given our newfound ties to Equestria, my father requested that I act as envoy in this matter."

Stanley leaned in close, nudging the Gryphon with a wing, "Top Secret Mission eh?  Mind letting us in on the ol' scoop?"

Sildinar glared, "In fact, I do.  I am not given to breaching confidence.  I have told you more than I would tell most.  I expect discretion on your part."

Fyrenn ambled up, and placed a half-intimidating, half-protective wing over Carradan, grinning down at him in an expression equal parts hollow and menacing, "And he would never *dream* of being indiscreet.  Would you Stan?"

The Pegasus flinched, grinning sheepishly, "Hehe...  My lips are zipped pal."

Sildinar smiled, a genuine expression of trust, "Good.  I believe our lunch has arrived."

Fyrenn turned to follow Sildinar's gaze, and noted with satisfaction that Kephic and Varan had managed to find a large enough kill to serve not only as lunch, but as meat strips to fuel the remainder of their trip.

As they touched down, dropped the carcass between them, Varan pointed a claw up at the noon-day sun, "We had best get the skinning done swiftly.  That took longer than I would have liked."

Carradan raised an eyebrow, his muzzle twisting into an expression of disgust, "Aaah...  If you guys don't mind, I think I'll go over that hill and...  I can't believe I'm sayin' this...  Graze a bit.  Beef Jerky is still a little ways off for me, much less guttin' and skinnin.' "

Fyrenn shrugged, "No worries.  I'll be sure to save you a few strips for later."

The salmon Pegasus glowered, "Har de har har."

As the four Gryphons set to relieving the deceased mammal of its skin, Kephic plied Fyrenn with a question, "You really think this is worth the trip?"

Fyrenn nodded emphatically, "Don't tell me, after everything we went through, that you doubt we're going to the expert among experts?"

The speckled Gryphon shook his head, "No no...  I'm just worried that expertise won't be able to match the power of a computer encryption."

His crimson brother snorted, "Who said we were relying on expertise alone?"

Varan made a precise swipe with his talons, and peeled away a large segment of fur seamlessly, "In the vein of encryption; 
This is effectively proof that the trolls attacking our borders are in league with the PER.  Where else would they gain access to human-level computing power?"

Sildinar grunted, "Where indeed."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 12th, Gregorian Calendar

"Relax."  

Hutch cast a sideways glare at Aston,  "What makes you think I'm not relaxed?"

The commander snorted, "Has no one ever told you that your left eye has a nervous twitch?"

Hutch grimaced, "It does *not.*"

Aston smirked, "Its alright.  I'd be unnerved too."

The General nodded, "Damn straight.  We're talking about Dragons here.  Nevermind that either of them could flay me alive, nevermind that they breathe all kinds of terrifying shit, and nevermind that they have a fiercely independent streak; They're also both Earthgov citizens, *and* diplomatically immune members of the Dragon race.  Trying to be CO to a creature like that is like trying to hit a bullseye with a revolver, blindfolded, while walking a *tightrope.*  That's also been lit on fire."

"Look at it this way..." Aston rounded the corner slightly ahead of Hutch, and tapped the lift call button, "You're not so much their commanding officer as their...  Tactical liaison."

Hutch stepped into the lift, and exhaled slowly, eyes expanding slightly, "You got that right.  Every time I have to give an Equestrian...  A non-Pony Equestrian an order, it feels more like I'm asking nicely than telling sternly."

Aston inclined her head, as the lift began to descend to Fort Hamilton's 'ground' floor, "And you wonder why politicians always seem so ornery?  Imagine trying to deal with a Gryphon in the Council chambers on some sort of sore issue."

Hutch raised an eyebrow as the doors opened onto the central atrium.  Aston winced, "Oh.  Right.  Been there, done that, got the T-Shirts."

Hutch strode out of the lift, straightening his jacket, "With that in mind, I think we can handle this."

The pair walked in silence;  Years of military practice keeping them precisely in step as their JRSF issue black combat boots clacked against the plating of the floor.  They reached the main courtyard doors, which slid open at their approach to reveal a glorious Equestrian sunrise.

The light sparkled and glinted off their destination.  A pair of adult, yet still relatively median sized Dragons.

The one on the left was a brilliant shade of emerald.  He appeared slightly younger, and more lithe than his counterpart.

The one on the right was a shade Hutch would describe as 'anodized aluminum blue.'  Pure, vibrant, and evocative of nothing so much as the plates of an armored vehicle fresh off an assembly line.  Ready for primer, paint, and then combat.  

He looked several years older, and more experienced in his comport and posture.  His expression was also, the General noted, considerably less inviting.  The Green Dragon, while standing at attention like his compatriot, had a look of optimism and excitement to his muzzle.

The Blue Dragon looked more grizzled.  Hutch immediately marked him down as more likely to be the most problematic of the pair.

The reptilian life forms by no means filled the courtyard, but nonetheless they felt very large, in comparison to the armored vehicles and platoons of soldiers moving across the vast duracrete tarmac.

Hutch squared his shoulders and strode up to the pair, "Mornin'!  I'm General Hutchison!"  Somehow, a halfway shout felt like the most appropriate way to address a creature nearly three times his height, "Welcome to Fort Hamilton!  You're here because you volunteered for special service as part of your Conversion.  More specifically, you are *here* in New York, because in light of the evacuation, we are expecting trouble.  More than usual.  You two ready to help me make sure that whoever comes busting down the door gets more than they bargained for?"

The Green Dragon nodded emphatically, clearly trying to resist breaking into a toothy smile "You *bet* we are!"

The blue Dragon simply nodded once gruffly.

Hutch returned the gesture, "Alright then.  You know me.  Hows about I get to know you?"

The Green Dragon, predictably, leapt into the silence with his response, "Most people used to know me as Kaidaan Rel.  I go by Klarien now.  I volunteered because I felt like the limitations of my Human body were keeping me back from doing Earth true service.  When I got into the Draconification program...  Well...  The decision practically made itself."

Klarien bent his head down to look Hutch in the eye, "I've read about you, and your service record.  You're a master tactician and I'm looking forward to learning from your experience."

Hutch smiled slightly, "Well I don't know if I'd call myself a master, but I do knock a few heads together in creative ways now and again."  The General turned to face the other reptile, "And as for you?"

The Dragon's voice seemed to vibrate the very duracrete beneath Hutch's' boots, "I am called Taranis.  I have extensive military experience, and I would like to get started with my duties right away.  I expect to need minimal re-training or supervision."

Hutch knit his eyebrows.  Aston tapped away at a large DaTab cradled in her arms, "It says here you're retired military...  You have two citations for valor..."  She winced, and her tone dropped, "As well as a half dozen unspecified redacted standing charges, and psychological flags."

Hutch glared up at Taranis, secretly feeling quite nervous at locking eyes with a creature who would outlive him by measures of millennia, "This isn't going to be a *problem* is it?"

The cobalt Dragon exhaled sharply, creating a strong gust of wind that bore a tang, like melting silicon or scorched air, "Not for me."

Hutch glowered, "Well then.  I think we'd best move on to gear, quarters, and schedules.  Let's go."

The group made their way around the courtyard to a large entry-way, from which a steady stream of vehicles were coming and going.  The Dragons inserted themselves into the traffic pattern, while Hutch and Aston made their way along a side area reserved for foot traffic.

Once inside, they peeled away from the vehicle lane, and moved down a series of giant corridors towards the underground armories.

Fort Hamilton had, in the years since post-Pony Conversion programs came online, been retrofitted extensively to handle various species in certain portions of its infrastructure.

Hutch led the way into a large room off one of the main access junctions, "Your gear is a lighter, urban-level version of the equipment they're putting on Scalebuster units.  Light-vehicle-class anti-material armor, basic area denial countermeasures, and a single high accuracy anti-vehicle wrist-worn railgun."

Klarien reached out to one of the two identical suits of armor, suspended on large Dragon shaped racks, and removed the helmet.  He turned it over in his claws, smiling, "Incredible!  I thought it would seem unusually large but...  From this perspective it really isn't."

There was a loud *CLANK* from the other side of the bay, and Hutch spun to see Taranis, railgun in-claw, in the process of sighting down the barrel.  The tell-tale blue glowing slits at the breach of the weapon indicated he had inserted, and cycled the power cell.

Aston inhaled, "A little larger than what you're used to?"

Hutch tensed and waited for the Dragon's response.  Taranis continued to stare down the weapon, eyes glinting as if with the fury of a storm.  Then he slowly laid the device down on the room's large central worktable, "Not especially.  No."

Hutch gestured for the Dragons to proceed into the corridor again.  He leaned close to Aston after they had passed, "I can tell already.  This is going to be *so* much fun."

Aston smirked, "I don't work this division so...  Not for *me.*"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fourteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn found Canterlot a fascinating city.  As much as he preferred Gryphic architecture, he still found plenty of room in his tastes for a healthy appreciation of Equine aesthetic.  It had a neo-classical charm to it;  Spires, minarets, and slender towers made of pure marble, trimmed in obsidian, gold, and silver.

More than the architecture, however, the Gryphon enjoyed the occupants of the city, and its culture.  Ponies had a sedentary leisurely charm that was, in small doses, appealing as a break to the usual stress of travel and combat.

It was late enough in the morning that Fyrenn's keen eyes could spy columns of smoke and steam from a thousand cooking breakfasts.  Ponies moved to and fro in the streets hauling carts, setting out café tables, and delivering all kinds of commodities.

The group angled directly for Canterlot Castle.  Fyrenn and most of his fellow Gryphons had managed to sleep in the air, taking turns leading the formation to ensure no one would crash while snoring.  Carradan, being a Pegasus, did not possess the biological mechanisms to sleep as restfully in-flight.

The Salmon Pony was clearly flagging, badly.  As far as Fyrenn was concerned, first priority was getting Stanley a place to sleep off his undue exertion.

The group angled down towards a marble and tile arrival pad built into the side of Canterlot's royal palace, coming to a swift and practiced landing between two rows of Royal Guards, their gold armor glittering in the sun.

The accoutrement bore a striking similarity to Carradan's own steel-gray armor.  The suits were identical save that Stan's lacked the gold plating, and blue crest.

Gryphons manufactured the base pieces for all the Equestrian Nation's Royal armor.  Carradan's gear was simply a suit pulled from a shipment years before in time of need.  He had taken a personal liking to it, and been allowed to keep it.

The doors to the palace were opened by a pair of guards, one of whom inclined his head and spoke to Sildinar, "Her highness Princess Luna is expecting you.  Shall we have rooms prepared for your companions as well?"

Sildinar cast a glance back at his compatriots.  Carradan was leaning against Fyrenn, barely able to keep his eyes open.  Sildinar nodded, "Yes, but only one need be ready immediately.  The rest can wait."

The Guard nodded curtly, "Anything else?"

Fyrenn stepped forward, "I'd like for you to have someone sent for."  He began to step through the door, then paused, "...And, would you please take a missive for Princess Celestia?"





The four Gryphons had fallen mostly to pacing.  After Carradan had been seen to a room, wherein he had fallen directly onto the bed and begun to snore immediately, the avians had been brought to one of the castle's ancillary dining rooms.

There a spread of cheeses, breads, and fruits had been laid out.  While their metabolisms required meat, on average, with every meal in order for them to survive, they could still gain nutrition from other foodstuffs if their daily meat quota was filled.

Fyrenn had divvied up the leftover meat strips from their last kill, and they had fallen to eating an impromptu breakfast.

While the food was welcome, a feeling of unrest had fallen upon the group.  They had flown practically non-stop to try for Fyrenn's mysterious hail-Mary pass, and now they were being made to wait for seemingly no apparent reason.

In reality, it had been less than a quarter of an hour since they landed, and their arrival had been unexpected.  But to the Gryphons, Fyrenn and Kephic especially, it felt longer.  Patience was not the brothers' strong suit.  That was more Varan and Sildinar's purview.

At long last, a knock came at the door, followed swiftly by a newcomer.  Princess Luna was an imposing presence;  A touch of her regal bearing even bled through the Gryphons' impassivity.  Few figures of authority outside the Kingdoms warranted much respect from the avians, but princess Luna was one of them.

It was sometimes a source of conflict between Ponies and Gryphons;  Many Equines held their rulers in nigh-on deific esteem, while for the Gryphons 'respect' meant that Luna and Celestia were viewed as, in most cases, as unusually powerful and aged equals.

Luna allowed a very small hint of a smile to pull at the corners of her normally unfazed muzzle, "It is most agreeable to see you all again.  Particularly you Sildinar, and Fyrenn.  I am told you come with news, as well as a request?"

Fyrenn nodded, "We do.  But time is of the essence here.  How soon can we begin?"

Luna nodded toward the door, "She is awaiting you in the passage, though she does not yet know why.  I did not have time to explain it to her.  My sister and I took your message to mean you were in urgent need of alacrity."

Sildinar inclined his head, "That we are."

The group filed out into the corridor, to behold a Pony standing at the far end, shuffling her hooves and staring out the stained glass windows into the morning light.

Fyrenn dashed forward silently, and pounced, wrapping the young Unicorn in a tight hug with both wings, "Surprise you little imp!"

She shrieked;  A sound that went instantly from surprise, to delight.  The Unicorn fell into a fit of laughter, returning the Gryphon's familial embrace and momentarily pressing her head into the comforting crook of his neck, "Good to see you too featherbrains."

She finally managed to extricate herself from the crushing display of brother/sister affection, and gain a touch of her composure back, though she continued to grin with her trademark devil-may-care glint in her eyes, "Now...  I don't suppose you came all this way without sending ahead just to surprise me?"

Fyrenn shook his head, "No Skye.  No we did not."

Skye's smile widened, "Well a girl does love an unexpected challenge now and then."
> Chapter 9
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 13th, Gregorian Calendar

When Neyla arrived in the armory, most of her team had already begun to sift through their gear, and prepare for the day.

To her surprise, the Gryphoness had found herself placed in charge of a full detachment.  Her unit, along with three others much like it, reported to Seyal by way of General Sorven.  The more she contemplated the arrangement, the more clever she realized the concept was.

Gryphons were the species best suited to point, and command roles in a fire team, but they also had the distinct disadvantage of being highly independent.  Gryphons would rarely conscien reporting to a superior of another species. 
Most Gryphons saw even the highest ranking members of other races as equals, at best.

The average well-adjusted Human, on the other claw, could be trained to follow almost anyone all things being equal.  But by the same token homo sapiens felt very uncomfortable if the interests of their species, social class, gender, genetic subset, and even geopolitical heritage, were not being served at all times.

Neyla could grasp the concept of general species pride quite well, but in total she was often appalled. 

Appalled by not only the number, and depth of the divisions Humanity placed on itself *within* its species, but even more so by the way Humans behaved when such petty distinctions were not elevated to high import and treated as golden rules.

She sometimes found it hard to believe, but according to the history files she had read it had once been far worse, to the point that some people were brutalized for no other reason than minor external manifestations of the sequencing of their genetic code.

While most Humans seemed to think the majority of those issues had died with the Winnowing, Neyla had quickly come to realize that the fresh external perspectives of Equestrian species were unearthing the still-rotting dregs of classism, racism, and culture-phobia, on *both* sides of the barrier;  Dragging their more subtle, but no less insidious, modern practices into the light.  

Often kicking and screaming.

Somehow, in spite of such issues and more besides, the JRSF had, by necessity, become masterful at serving the needs of all its species, petty and otherwise, to keep a smooth command structure in place.

Sorven's liaison position allowed the baser members of Humanity to feel as if its interests were being given special treatment, while Seyal's position at the top of the command chain afforded the JRSF a dual advantage.  Not only could they put Gryphons in command of the protection detail fire-teams, but the other parties with vested interests could rest assured that Seyal's immutable moral safeguards would prevent her from being, as the Human phrase went, 'flipped.'

Neyla sighed, squared her shoulders, and padded quietly into the large oblong room.  Her team consisted of herself, Tirinel, and a dozen other members.  The remainder of the team was split;  Half humans, another Dragon, another Gryphon, and the remaining one-third comprised of Ponies, the latter serving spotter, technician, and medical roles.

Every member of the unit had veteran combat status, having been part of a military detachment of some sort for a minimum of three years.  All had seen heavy action a minimum of twice.

The blue and tan Gryphon paused at the mouth of the room, and stared down its length.  It was shaped vaguely like a trapezoidal cross-section, with thick titanium supports every few feet.  Between each set of supports was a pair of lockers containing armor and weapons for a Human, Pony, or Gryphon.  At the end of the bay, opposite the entrance, were two considerably larger areas for the Dragons.

Neyla examined each member of her team in turn.  While she was used to seeing Human warriors, the Ponies took her somewhat by surprise.  They were clearly still governed in some capacity by their passivity, but there was also a definite hardened aspect to them.

It shone in their eyes;  A firm resolve instilled by years of easing into combat roles.  They were not so ideally suited to the role of an all-out fighter as even a Human could be, though not for lack of physical prowess, but they were also far less restricted from it than the average Equine.

They could and would, Neyla realized, take a life if necessary.

To many in the Equestrian Nation that would be distasteful.  To the Gryphoness, it was reassuring.  Beyond merely the scope of her assignment, it reassured her that perhaps Ponies *could* be taught, as a species, to be ready to stand up and fight when their lives and loved ones were threatened.

She knew that neither she, nor anyone else, could expect them to become warriors like Gryphons or Dragons, or even Humans.  But perhaps they could avoid becoming *entirely* career pacifists.

Neyla had seen the colorful Equinids defuse potentially bad situations enough times to appreciate their skills with diplomacy.  Something her own kind lacked sorely.  But she was also old and wise enough to know the difference between diplomatic kindness, even empathy, and outright unconscionable passivity.

The Gryphon shook herself, and strode quickly to her locker.  Lockermates were intended to be partners, but Neyla was in charge of the entire unit.  Consequently the locker beside her own, at the head of the line, was reserved for Sorven's combat gear, incase the General was needed in the field.

While Sorven's tasks for the day would have her practically bolted to her desk, she had nevertheless made the trip down to the armory to give her new gear a once-over, and synchronize action items with the unit's schedule.

The General was staring down the inside of a RAC-7 breech, having just inserted an energy cell into the butt.  She snapped the weapon shut, cycled the power, and glanced up at Neyla, "You're early."

Neyla dipped her head and smirked, "Surprise is the best advantage."

She pressed one claw to the pad beside her locker.  The two doors immediately irised open with the confirmation of her DNA, to reveal her gear, sequestered in a series of stacked compartments.  

The weapons were in precisely the same condition they had been when she inspected them on the Northolt tarmac, minus the magnetic javelins.  The armor, however, was clearly something new.

Neyla removed the helmet, and flipped it over in her claws, before glancing over at Sorven, "We've been issued new gear?"

The General grinned, "I thought you might find that interesting.  They took a lot of the feedback from you folks in the field, and did some serious refactoring.  It's one thing to design a suit of armor to fit something, it's another thing entirely to design a suit based off experience and hard data."

The Gryphon flipped the helmet over, and knocked on it with a claw.  The surface was a dull shade of gray with a carbon composite-like texture, but in certain lights the telltale hexagonal pattern of an energy diffusion matrix was visible sandwiched somewhere between the layers of alloy.

The matrix, as Neyla understood it, allowed for dispersion of some kinetic force, and a great deal of energy from laser and particle weapons.  Combined with the anti-ballistic gel layers, ablative outer skin, and tough teryllium/carbon alloy plates in between, it was the best stopping power short of a magic shield.

Neyla brought the helmet to rest on her head, and rolled her shoulders, "Good fit!  I'm impressed."

Sorven gestured to the remainder of the armor, its crimson JRSF stripe noticeably duller and low-visibility than the previous version Neyla had worn, "You haven't even begun to see 'impressed.' "

The Gryphoness hefted one of the foreleg gauntlets.  At a slight, but intentional flick, a pair of wicked looking double edged serrated blades emerged from the sides of the plating.  Neyla raised an eyebrow.

The General chuckled, "You'll have time for a test flight later I expect, but they tell me whatever effort and time you have to spend acclimating...  It'll be well worth it."

Neyla set the gauntlet back on the rack, and pulled off her helmet.  Her head crest momentarily flared in response to the static built up between the surface and her feathers.  Sorven chuckled.

The Gryphoness glared, and the feathers gradually receded of their own accord.  She turned to stare down the length of the bay once more.  Seeing that most of her troops were in the finishing stages of their preparations, she expelled a shrill whistle from her beak.

Once all heads had turned to face her, she began, "Now that you're all aware of your new gear, and you have your partners, we're going to do some qualifying runs to you can get acclimated to both.  After that, starting tonight and running through tomorrow we will have strategy meetings.  Once those are concluded, we split.  Half of us are canvassing this city, block by block, and nipping problem spots in the bud.  The other half are going to turn this facility into the most secure place on the planet."

Neyla paused, and looked to each member of the squad in turn, "Questions?"  No one spoke.

She nodded once, "Good!  Let's move."

As the various creatures began filing out, pair by pair, Sorven shot Neyla a genuine smile of respect, "You're a natural at this."

Neyla snorted as she began to heft her own gear into place, "I hate it.  I live as a sentinel for a reason.  I like my independence.  Leadership is the antithesis of independence."

Sorven snorted, "You have a good bit to learn yet if you really believe that.  Want to know a little secret?  No one is *truly* independent, and you wouldn't *want* to be even if you could.  Independence is morbidly lonely."

With her parting words, the General excused herself from the armory, leaving Neyla to ponder as she snapped each piece of her armor into place.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fourteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"How come you hardly ever write?" Skye offered a curious glance to accompany her query, tilting her head as she walked down the hallway at the head of the group.

Fyrenn scowled, "We don't exactly get a lot of chances to stop by a post office you know."

Skye nodded morosely, "Yeah...  I guess you guys don't see the nice side of civilization as much these days..." she glanced up at Fyrenn and smirked, "Judging by the smell anyways."

Kephic snorted, and took a playful swat at the Unicorn, which she gracefully dodged, pirouetting to face backwards and sticking out her tongue.

Fyrenn chuckled, as his monochromatic sibling returned the childish gesture in kind.  Varan put an abrupt end to the antics, before Fyrenn could join in and turn the situation into a free-for-all, "As much as I respect your talent, Skye," he shifted his gaze briefly to Fyrenn, "And your judgement, brother, I still do not see how the arithmetical skills of a single Unicorn, even a prodigy, will help us crack a computer-generated code."

Skye rolled her eyes, "Have a little faith will ya?  Nobody said anything about me going it alone.  I've been pretty busy with my new 'project' while you guys have been tearing up the frozen north."

The group moved on in silence for several more moments.  Sildinar and Luna had left together as soon as brief greetings had been exchanged all around.  They had been quietly whispering about the best troop formations for securing a convoy, and how to avoid attention by marching on less-traveled routes.

Fyrenn hadn't given the conversation much thought.  He had more immediate concerns.

Finally, the group reached the end of the hall.  The opposing wall was gilded with ornate filigree, reminiscent of a tall Victorian gate.  The center of the decorative formation contained a brass door-like structure.  Skye stepped up to the wall, and pressed a hoof against a small innocuous button.

The doors snapped open, to reveal a small rectangular box-like room.  Kephic snorted, grinning, "I'll be...  An elevator."

Varan sighed, "Joy."

After a small amount of squeezing and shuffling, it turned out that there was indeed enough room in the elevator car for the entire group.  Barely.

Skye was the last one in, by necessity, in order to allow her access to the controls on the front right wall.  She smiled, "Please, keep your claws, wings, and paws inside the car at all times, and no flash photography."

She smacked her hoof against one of the buttons, and pulled away to ensure her muzzle was a safe distance from the doors, "Going...  Down."

The brass portals snapped shut, and the vehicle began to descend rapidly, and uncomfortably, with the loud whirr, hiss, and click of gears and steam-driven machinery.  After several quiet moments passed, Varan spoke up, "We must already have passed beyond the lowest levels of the archives."

Skye tilted her head, "Wellllll...  The lowest *public* levels."

After another minute of silence, the elevator gradually ground to a halt, and the doors opened once more onto a vaulted hallway.

As Fyrenn extricated himself from the car, and stretched his wings reflexively, he swept his gaze over the passage.  Much of it appeared to be solid granite, as if the space had been hewn directly through the mountain.  It was all artfully trimmed and polished, but it lacked seams.

Augmenting the natural granite were swooping pillars of marble, trimmed in the traditional Canterlot gold and silver.  The entire construction was easily thirty feet tall, and twenty feet wide.  Fyrenn glanced down the length of the space, judging it to be nearly thirty yards.  At the opposite end of the passage stood a pair of thick marble doors, flanked by a pair of Luna's Night Guards.

Skye set off down the corridor, leading once more, "This way please.  And hold all questions 'till the end of the tour."

As they approached the doors, Fyrenn took a moment to examine the Night Guards more closely.  One was much like all the others the Gryphon had seen before;  Coat dyed ashen gray, mane colored a deep shade of amaranthine.  Outfitted in armor sheathed in pure polished obsidian, and trimmed with silver, the imposing image was completed by magically disguised wings taking the form of the leathery appendages commonly associated with bats.

The other guard was armored and colored identically, but conspicuously lacked wings.  Instead, his Unicorn horn bore an obsidian and silver ornament, complemented by a pair of vicious looking minotaur horns that seemed to be growing out of his head, and poking through slits in his helmet.

If the fierce appendages were anything like the Night Guards' traditional bat wings, they were a form of magical disguise, placed on the troops to give them a more distinctive and intimidating appearance.

When the group reached the doors, the Unicorn guard held out a hoof, then nodded towards Skye, "Step aside please."

She rolled her eyes, but did as she was asked.  The Guard looked her over, as if examining a gem for flaws, then his horn flared to life.  The subtly magenta field swept over Skye from nose to tail., then back again, before dissipating.  The Guard nodded once abruptly, "You're clear.  Welcome to the archive vault."

The Pegasus guard pressed a hoof against the doors, and the swung open noiselessly.  As the group passed through, Fyrenn cocked his head and fixed Skye with a questioning gaze, "What was *that* all about?"

The Unicorn snorted, "We had a break-in a few months back.  A Changeling.  Now they have to test everyone who goes in, or out.  You guys get a free pass because they still can't copy Gryphons.  Mercifully."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, "Why would a Changeling want to break into the Archives?"

Skye chuckled, "You mean *besides* all the unholy and awesome spells of power in the secure wings?  Apparently the imposter was under the impression that we might be storing Human military secrets down here."

Kephic shook his head, "Wrong archives.  Last I heard Celestia wanted no part of anything to do with Humanity's technologies of violence.  We've been taking charge of anything military related and storing it in the capital library."

Varan nodded, "Doubtless we will make better use of it in any case."

All conversation came to an abrupt end as the group reached the end of the corridor.  The passage opened out onto a vast chamber; the sight elicited a whistle of awe from Fyrenn, "That...  Is a lot of crates."

Spread out before the group was an enormous domed chamber.  Like the passages, it was cut directly from the rock of the mountain.  The space was, in the red Gryphon's estimate, at least a thousand yards long, more than half-again as wide, and nearly sixteen stories tall.

The space was filled to bursting with immense floor-to-ceiling shelving structures.  The structures themselves were packed to the brim with wooden crates.

Skye shrugged nonchalantly, "The Human Archiving project produces a lot of...  Stuff.  This is receiving;  It waits here until it's tagged, and moved to its home somewhere in the new Human wings of the Archives."

She set off down the rows of boxed documents, paintings, and statues, "C'mon!"

Varan raised an eyebrow, "Is it safe to assume you did not bring us all the way down to these caverns simply to look at crates of books?"

Fyrenn interjected, "It's safe to assume.  Don't you worry."

Skye led the group swiftly passed the stacks of duplicated Human art, history, and culture, to another large door on the far side of the cavern.

The aperture was clearly sealed with a series of heavy, intricate steel locks.  The center of the circular portal contained a small hole, as if for a key.  Skye bent over, and inserted her horn, which flared briefly as her unique magical signature triggered the wards on the door.  A moment later, she withdrew her head, and the locks began to clank open, one by one.

As they waited for the door to open, Skye gestured to the rock around them, "Apparently this place has been here since the dawn of time, or something.  Before the castle and city even existed, a bunch of offshoot xenophobe Unicorns lived down here.  Real nice bunch."  The sarcasm in her words was painfully evident.

At last, the door was clear of its locks.  The immense steel disc rolled to the side, revealing a sight that put the storage caverns to shame.

The roof of the new chamber was shorter, only eight stories high. But it seemed to go on for nigh on a four miles in every direction.  By far the most eye catching feature, however, was not the cavern but the crystals that filled it.

Row upon row of glittering translucent hard-edged stones, grown over centuries by some inscrutable process of geological change, and ambient magic.

While much of the crop of crystals was natural, and unspoiled, a path had been cut from the entryway to the center of the chamber.  Along all the sides of the path, the towering geological formations had been cut into symmetrical pillars, and surrounded with an organized chaos of wires and fittings.

Skye cracked a grin that seemed to raise the light level in the entire chamber, "Behold;  My new project."

Fyrenn chuckled, "It's even more impressive than your letters led me to expect."

The Unicorn nodded, as she led the way towards the center of the room, "We've expanded it twice since our last exchange.  We're going to have to do the same thing three more times this year alone if we ever hope to accommodate all the incoming data."

As the rest of the group stared in confusion, Fyrenn gestured to the natural crystals, "And...  What?  You mine some of them into smaller gems to use for the transfer?"

Skye nodded, "Got it in one, feathers.  The transfer rate isn't ideal, but it works.  We take what we can get."

Kephic finally lost all semblance of patience, "Would someone mind telling me how this is going to help with our code-breaking problem?"

As the group reached the platform in the center of the room, the answer became clear almost as Skye voiced it, "You guys are standing *inside* the very first Thaumatic Computer." 

The speckled Gryphon grinned wryly, "So that's what this is all about.  I should've known."

Fyrenn shrugged, resettling his wings in the same motion, "I knew, but I was asked to keep it a secret for now.  Apparently this is the single highest value potential target for PER sympathizers in Equestria.  They are half way to saving the internet, after all."

Skye hummed absently, "Mmm...  More like a little over a third of the way, but we're getting there on-schedule all the same."

She ascended a small flight of stairs, followed by the Gryphons, arriving on the central platform itself.

Much of the space was given over to eerily glowing thaumatic machinery;  Tubes imbued with an ethereal light, twisted coils of copper wire that arced from time to time with tiny bolts of electricity, and bank after bank of mechanical switches and dials made from brass and gold.

The center of the platform was a clear space, dominated by a horseshoe shaped oak desk.  On the desk sat something akin to a keyboard, with each key representing either a letter in common or a function of some sort.  Each button was approximately the size of a hoof.

On an adjustable silver arm sat a large monitor-like protrusion of clear crystal in a fitting of bronze.

Beside the keyboard Fyrenn noted a series of geometrically shaped, gold-lined slots, some of which were playing host to Crystals.

Skye hopped onto a stool positioned before the terminal, and jammed her hoof into a large silver button beside the keyboard.

With a low, ominous thrum, the crystals immediately surrounding the platform began to glow, ever so slightly.  Fyrenn's ears twitched as he detected the sound of arcing current, and shifting gears in some of the upright machinery.

The display crystal abruptly went from transparent, to a shade of black, and a series of common text lines began to spell out swiftly in familiar terminal-green.  

As Skye began rapidly tapping away at the keyboard with her hooves, Fyrenn stared over her shoulder, cocking his head in confusion, ears perked, "You're not initializing all the available crystal arrays?"

The Unicorn's eyes widened, "Hoho...  Noooo buddy.  If we did *that* this place would go up like a nuclear firework display, and us with it."

Varan's head feathers puffed out in mild surprise, "You mean to say you can not make use of its full potential?"

Skye shook her head as she input several commands to initialize an array of crystals as random access memory, "The computer depends on both magic and electricity.  Problem is, electricity does *not* play well with magic, especially not ambient magic;  And Equestria is charged to busting with the stuff.  We have decent insulators now, thanks to some hotshot Unicorn out of Ponyville, but they're not advanced enough yet for us to boot the whole lattice down here at once.  Only about a quarter of it at any one time.  We expect to bring that number up in future."

The Unicorn spun her stool around, and smiled, "So where's this supposedly computer-generated code?"

Varan pulled the sheets from his pack, and proffered them to Skye.  She quickly grasped the sheafs in her magic field, and levitated them over to the desk, spreading them out sequentially, "Oook; So long story short, I have to enter these as files first, and that's going to take about forty five minutes at my typing speed.  Then I have to spend some quality time running the initial blocks against various cipher programs until I find a lead."

Kephic sighed, "And *that* will take...?  A day?  Two?"

Skye tilted one ear, as if listening to a voice inside her own head, "Mmm...  Two...  Three hours at most."

Fyrenn smiled, and nudged his speckled brother with a wing, "Have a little faith.  We might just make something out of this mess yet."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 13th, Gregorian Calendar

As he had expected, Hutch found Taranis and Klarien in one of Fort Hamilton's larger armor bays.  The compartment had originally been a vehicle repair facility, but had been repurposed to suit Dragons in light of their unusual size.

The General paused to watch in fascination, as Klarien attached his helmet.  As the magnetic clamps engaged with the panels already secured to the reptile's neck, the plating across the entire upper assembly flattened from its maintenance position, to its combat position.

One by one, the dull menacing segments of alloy hissed and clicked into place, wreathing the Dragon's already durable verdant scales in a secondary layer of anti-projectile defense.

Hutch turned to size up Taranis, who was already completely geared-up, and seemed intent on checking every last component of his wrist-mounted guns.

JRSF accoutrement lent the reptiles a fearsome aspect beyond the intense natural terror they exuded.  The plating of standard urban warfare suits covered all the weakest spots in their scale sheathe, as well as the areas closest to their vital organs, and the most vulnerable joints.

The glowing slits at various junctures of the armor were a subtle indicator of the enormous capacitors hidden within the paneling that powered the weapons, and transceivers embedded in the gauntlets and back plates respectively.  One Dragon's suit could act as a small relay station for communications.  Two could support an entire battalion, plus jamming for a two mile radius.

When fully armored, Hutch decided that the creatures almost looked more like some sort of whimsical, terrifying, hell-spawned vehicle than any kind of living thing.

Subtlety and flexibility were irrelevant.  The marriage of Human tactical assets, and Draconic biology, was about pure force and durability alone.  A post-Human, post-tank, post-gunship war machine bearing more in common with a Naval Frigate than anything else.

The General gave the pair a moment to finish their preparatory work, then cleared his throat loudly, "Ehem.  Gentlemen.  I see you've gotten acquainted with your gear.  Today I'd like you both to run an urban combat training test.  You're not bipeds in power suits anymore.  You are multi-ton reptilian predators with the capacity to wipe out a city block, and that without any of the equipment.  I'd rather not see an overage of collateral damage coming from you two.  I need you on the front-lines ASAP, and I need you in top form."

Klarien snorted amiably, "No offense, but where do you plan to find a testing ground big and empty enough for us?"

"Almost a fifth of the city has been evacuated already, with particular emphasis on the East shore closest to the initial arrival point of the barrier.  Until landfall, we have the run of the place, and a three hectare area has been drawn off specifically for urban combat training.  Everything there is going to bits anyways soon enough."

Taranis lumbered over, and dipped his head down into the conversation, "What, precisely, do you expect us to do once we have finished your 'retraining' ?"

For an answer, Hutch merely tapped two keys on his DaTab, then spun the device around for both Dragons to see.  A series of shaky, blurred DaTab videos from the Bureau steps played in sequence, each showing the moment of the HOB bombing from a different angle.

Paving stones flew in all directions, chips of marble impaled screaming civilians, and Klarien even noted the presence of several bodiless limbs in two shots.  The green Dragon grimaced, a low rumble emanating from his chest cavity to shake the floor.

The General switched off the DaTab, "You're going to find the sons of bitches who did this.  Then you're going to find out who trained and supplied them.  Then you're going to *fuck them up.*  Violently."

Taranis snorted;  A small gesture to him, but a veritable wind gust to Hutch, "Would not a Human operative be better suited to a subtle investigation?"

The General nodded, "Yes.  But I'm not lookin' for subtle.  I don't want to do this quietly.  I want to make a statement;  Hands off the Bureaus, and stay away from the evacuation proceedings.  Or else.  Not much out there that can make a statement as boldly, or as visibly, as a brace of armed and angry Dragons with no-limit kill orders."

Taranis nodded slowly, "Where will we begin?"

Hutch glanced down at his DaTab, "I'll prepare you a full briefing for tomorrow morning, but suffice to say you're going to have to delve deep into the HOB, and in turn that's probably going to take you to the worst parts of the city, and eventually to even more unsavory folks."

Klarien tilted his head, and stretched his wings slightly.  The fluorescent lights of the armor bay highlighted the blood vessels in the enormous flight organs, and Hutch noticed with a small start that the Green Dragon's veins looked much like the patterns of leaves.

"You think the HLF were involved in the bombing?"

Hutch shook his head, "I do not 'think,' I *know* for a fact.  I also know that once we're finished with them, they would think twice about pulling a stunt like that again, if there was anything left to do the thinking.  We're gonna prove to them that no matter how big they go, and how loud they yell, we're always gonna make the cost too high.  Even for their 'fine' tastes."

Taranis rumbled, "And if their tastes run too 'fine' ?"

Klarien shrugged, his wings propelling a burst of his exhalations toward Hutch.  The smell reminded him at once both of the plants the Ponies kept in the Bureau hydroponics bay, and the scent of coolant.  Sweet, but with the distinct sickly tang of death.

"Isn't it obvious?  We take them for everything they have."
> Chapter 10
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 13th, Gregorian Calendar

Neyla stared contemplatively into the hologram, as if piercing it with her gaze would uncover some long-buried secret, "It is a large city.  And the divisions of the river complicate things."

Vancouver had indeed become large.  After the Winnowing, the metropolis had absorbed all the nearby boroughs and municipalities as people fled the countryside and sought shelter from the brutal northern winters.

Sorven, Tirinel, and Seyal were gathered at the other sides of the holotank, each likewise searching the projected map for vulnerable or vital locations related to the city's defense.

Seyal tapped a claw against the projection membrane thoughtfully, the image above rippling in time to the beat of her sharp index digit, "We'll have the support of a light carrier, starting tomorrow.  With its defense skiffs, we can be fairly assured that the river won't be used as a method of ingress."

Sorven nodded, fisted left hand propped under her chin pensively, "Both the PER and the HLF would have good reason to... 'attend the summit uninvited..."

Tirinel let out a deep thrum from his chest, finishing the sentence slowly, "And both would require large heavy devices to accomplish their purpose.  If we have sealed the river to them, the only remaining entry points are the maglevs, and via the aircraft terminus."

Neyla sighed, "Which means we will have to stretch our forces out across the ports, the train stations, *and* the air terminal."

"And that's just to secure the city's entry points."  Sorven tapped at the center of the hologram, her finger creating a series of cyan ripples in the buildings.  She turned to Neyla, "Like you said;  It's a big city.  They could easily have the materials here already to build a helluva bomb."

Seyal dipped her head in agreement, flattening her ears in thought, "Meaning we would be best advised to squeeze them from both sides.  Secure the premises of the complex here, as planned..."

Tirinel finished the thought, "And, as Neyla has already suggested, we should seek to root out potential bases of operations within the city.  Force them to fall back and defend rather than spend their time scheming and preparing."

Neyla grimaced, her ears mimicking Seyal's and defaulting to a concerned prone position, "It is a 'tall order' as you are so fond of saying General."

The silver Dragon interjected, "But not an impossible one.  We are a highly effective force, as today's qualifying runs so amply demonstrated."

Sorven nodded slowly, "Thank God for interspecies cooperation."

Seyal began dragging small colored lines on the map as she spoke, "In light of the size of the city, I suggest we split our forces in this manner;  One third will remain here in the compound for security, augmented by existing Earthgov forces.  The remainder will split between securing entry terminals, and combing through known PER and HLF sympathetic zones."

Neyla glanced sideways at General Sorven, raising an eyebrow and perking her ears, "You do understand that we tend to be very...  Aggressive in dealing with trouble spots.  There could be political fallout."

Sorven snorted, "The first rule in doing this job Neyla?  There is *always* political fallout.  And its not our problem as long as we can keep the politicians blaming each other while we do our job."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fourteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

One looked up just in time to see Three arriving with Two.  He gestured to the empty seats at the table, his voice a flat monotone, "Join us."

One was an expert at his trade, but for the mission at hoof he found himself constrained to his native mannerisms; Something most Equestrians found to be fairly alien.  The constraint was a byproduct of infiltration.  Without someone to actually replace, One had no particular target to study, and thus no grains of truth around which to build the façade of a false personality.

This fact was certainly alleviated by the nature of the mission;  There was no need to convince anyone that he, or any of his cohorts, were truly specific Ponies with specific identities, pasts, behaviors, careers, and loved ones.

When dealing with strangers, Ponies had an incredible tendency to overlook even the most attention-demanding of oddities in individuals.  This lack of paranoia made them highly permeable to infiltration, draining, and even replacement.  Some Ponies were even more keen to forgive peculiarities in the ones *closest* to them, rather than mere strangers.

They were not, One reflected, at all like Gryphons, or Dragons, who had cultures that were both exceedingly difficult to emulate facetiously, and naturally highly distrustful of outsiders or outsider behavior.  They were all but impossible to infiltrate effectively, let alone replace.

As the two newcomer 'Pegasi' obediently took their seats, a waitress appeared with a smile on her face and a tray balanced between her wings, "Can I get you anything gentlemen?"

One tilted his head slightly, as if trying to parse her request and weigh his response, before nodding, "Four waters."  The request was so emotionless that it seemed to visibly affect the waitress, nonetheless she nodded, forced a smile, and darted off back into the café.

The building was a beautiful combination of nimbus, and cumulocirrus cloud formations built at the corner of Cloudsdale's largest 'streets.'  At least, the locals described it as 'beautiful.'  One found it both difficult, and loathsome, to attempt to assimilate the aesthetic viewpoint of the Pegasi, or any other Equinid for that matter.

After the water arrived, Three leaned forward over the table and spoke in a hushed tone, "Do we move now?"

Four, the youngest of the group, nodded emphatically, "The sooner the better, yes?"

One shook his head slowly, his response delivered in the same sedate and flat manner as the motion itself, "Patience.  A large storm is planned for tomorrow evening.  Residents have been advised to avoid certain areas of the city's structure during this time.  The lightning and wind will make these locations...  Dangerous.  We will use this to our advantage."

Two cocked his head, a kinesics made peculiar by the almost robotic nature of its delivery, "We will make it appear to be an accident?  To avoid arousing suspicion?"

One hefted his water glass on one wing with expert motor control, and took a measured sip, "Precisely."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 13th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch sighed deeply as he watched the two Dragons plod down the empty boulevard.  The sheer surreality of the scene did very little to dampen his melancholy.

The segment of the city they had entered was utterly devoid of life.  With all its inhabitants evacuated, and no animals to fill in the cracks and crevices, it was utterly and truly desolate.  Pavement, steel, stone, and glass stretching on in a continuous expanse of antiseptic testament to advanced technology, and modern architecture.

The Dragons were a sharp contrast, not simply because they were the only moving things, but because they represented such an incredible paradox. Dragons in Manhattan.  Hutch shook his head and snorted.

Capping off the uncanny vista was the golden glow of an Equestrian afternoon.  The distant world's sun bathed the buildings in a lively hue evocative of some primordial sense of crispness, peace, and balance.  The Barrier itself was, despite its proximity, still far enough away to be almost invisible, unless one actively sought to identify it.  

It was far simpler to look at the sharp terminus between the iron sky of Earth, and the painfully beautiful blue of Equestria.

It was the contrasts that hurt the most.  Manhattan had always been a place evocative of life to Hutch.  It pained him to see his city emptied.  The sunlight and blue sky only served to worsen the effect, like a prisoner's last perfect meal, the simple but powerful joy of a cool, sunny afternoon brought only the bitterness of 'what might have been.'

The General closed his eyes and tried to imagine the street filled with traffic, and pedestrians.  He dredged up recent memories of smells, and sounds, and merged the memories with the alien, yet strangely familiar idea of seeing New York under a living sky.

Aston had told him it evoked a connection to history for her;  Not only would their generation be the last living witnesses to the city, but they had also become the first to see it under true sunlight in several generations.  

She had drawn a parallel to the myth of Janus.  Hutch wasn't much of one for history, but once she had explained he had agreed.  The metaphor seemed to fit the situation well.

He opened his eyes, and was struck by a curious thought;  How did the Dragons see the situation?

They were Converts, so doubtless there was some similarity between their reaction and Hutch's own, but they were also by the same token, Dragons.  Their lifespans would encompass eons of time, and a city was a much more transient thing to them, as a concept.  

To a human, or even a Gryphon, a city was something that often pre-dated one's life, and would likely endure long after one was dead.

To a Dragon, a city was unlikely to exist longer than a lifespan, especially if it pre-dated that lifespan.

Finally, the trio arrived at the center of the evacuated district.  The presence of several JRSF vehicles, crates, tents, and a small contingent of personnel created a startling island of activity in the sea of silence.

Hutch picked up his pace, striding past the Dragons to meet an armored trooper exiting the central tent, "Commander.  Everything ready for our guests?"

The man snapped off a salute, and nodded, "The building is prepped.  Seems like an awful waste of materials if you ask me."

The General grunted, "Better here, and better this way, than letting these two smash helter skelter through a populated region without any training, guessing as they go.  'Collateral Damage' for these guys is measured in megatons."

The Commander shivered, visibly, as he turned and made a quick series of hand signals to his men.  As the troopers darted to-and-fro, mostly endeavouring to remove their vehicles from the immediate vicinity of the designated training area, Hutch turned to the Dragons.

"My boys have turned this building," he tossed a thumb over his shoulder, indicating the largest nearby skyscraper, "Into a reasonable reconstruction of an HLF hostage scenario.  The point of all this being to teach you two how to thrash an enemy, on the clock, without incurring civilian casualties or doing *too* much collateral damage."

Klarien squinted in confusion, "How do you intend to present us with challenging opponents?"

"Holography.  Most of the building is wired with four-color low-fidelity, high-coverage, high-refresh-rate emitters.  The techs did some kind of wizardry and tied the controlling computer into the battlenet, paired it with your armor's sensors and a load more gobbledeygook that makes no sense to me.  The long and short of it is that your armor will record damage done to you, as well as kills and damage you incur to living targets.  The building will tell its own story at the end."

Taranis grunted, "If it is still standing."

Hutch glowered, "It had best be if we have any hope of sending you two into the field without raising hell from the press, the public, *and* the politicians."

Klarien gestured to the ground level entrance with one enormous beryl claw, "You said it was a hostage situation?"

The General nodded, "You're going to be scored based on enemies killed, hostages killed by enemies, hostages killed by you, time taken, and structural damage.  Obviously you only get points for one of those.  The rest are penalties of varying severity.  I imagine you're both capable of filling in the blanks on what counts for what."

Taranis dipped his head, scowling, "Quite."

Hutch began to back away, "At the sound of the air horn, the timer starts.  This is a flash deployment blow-through operation.  No intelligence, no backup, no communication to central command.  The operation is on you two alone and your actions are being judged accordingly.  Good luck."

Klarien grinned, "Not that we need it."

Taranis pierced him with an expression that spoke volumes, implying his opposing opinion wordlessly.

As Hutch made it to the line of JRSF vehicles, he turned and watched the giant reptilians preparing.  Their armor's hard edges and dull texture offered a menacing contrast to the glint of the evening sun on their jewel-like scales.  As the pair dug at the pavement below them, claws tearing into the duracrete as if it were tissue paper, Hutch whistled.

The Commander, who had taken up a protected position behind a Humvee, snorted, "I think I'd rather fight my ex in court again than piss one of those things off."

Hutch inhaled, and shook his head slowly, "That's a tough sell, but point well made."  The General nodded over his shoulder, "Whenever you're ready."

The Commander winced, "Watching this is gonna give me nightmares..." He mashed his thumb into a small remote, clutched in one gray plated glove.  An air horn affixed to a tall pole near the skyscraper's entrance let out a three second blast.

Klarien took off like a shot, directly through the front entrance.  Hutch cocked his head in confusion as Taranis neglected to follow suit.  The cobalt Dragon's motivations became clear momentarily, as he spread his wings and ascended rapidly with a few powerful beats that shook the air like a turbine engine.

If Klarien's wings evoked leafy vein patterns, then Taranis' wings bore an uncanny resemblance to a stormy sky laced with angular fractals of clouds and lightning.

Within seconds, Taranis had ascended to the top floor of the skyscraper, utilizing the relative precision afforded him by his biological wings to pull off maneuvers that even the smallest of VTOLs were ill-suited for.

Without warning, prelude, or any regard for potentially injury, Taranis dove muzzle-first through the top floor windows, creating an enormous entry breach with such speed and effortlessness, it seemed as if his body were gracefully displacing water, rather than steel and plexiglass.

The Commander whistled, "Frack me..."





Inside the lobby, Klarien was surprised to find that the holographic HLF troopers were nowhere to be seen.  Indeed, the vast atrium space was just as deserted as the street outside.

He took an experimental sniff of the air, before remembering that his digital opponents did not leave any sort of scent trail.  He snorted, and decided that it was an unfair handicap, but not by any means a serious hindrance to completing the mission.  There was more than one way to track prey.

A hologram would produce no smell, nor heat, but it would certainly produce sound and an overabundance of light.

Few were surprised to learn that a Gryphon could be stealthy;  The combined leonine and avian grace they exuded made it obvious that they were predators of silent precision, and could leverage stealth masterfully to that end.

Dragons, in contrast, seemed to be everything that subtlety was not.  Large, loud, and capable of wreaking havoc with a gesture as simple as a sneeze.  Certainly it was impossible to mask their presence from a Gryphon, with their all-seeing eyes, or a Diamond Dog with their unbelievably sensitive ears and noses.

But Humans were possessed no such useful sensory traits.  They were half blind, lacked any sense of smell at all, and were almost totally deaf, by even the lowest of Equestrian standards.  They relied almost exclusively on their technology as an extension of their senses.

Stealth was rarely useful to a Dragon, but Klarien decided that it would serve his purposes well, for once.

He slid across the marble floor, belly inches away from the tiles, holding his claws at such an angle as to minimize the noise of his passage.

He snaked his way to the stairwell, wings tucked close to afford the squeeze through the door, which had been designed for Humans only.

His first opponents made themselves apparent instantly;  A pair of lightly-armored HLF soldiers one floor above.  As their first ethereal rounds zipped downwards, pinging off the green Dragon's scales, he launched himself up the center of the concrete space.

He knew he was running on a second, much shorter timer now.  It was only a matter of moments before the virtual soldiers would begin to kill hostages in hopes of cutting their losses, or even forcing him to halt his advance.

He found a moment, as he ascended on the force of his wings and back legs, to hope that Taranis had not alerted the guards to their presence to early or too forcefully.

Klarien banished far-reaching concerns from his mind as he connected with his assailants.  The force of his arrival pulverized the second floor landing, dispersing both holograms instantly.  Had they been corporeal beings, there would have doubtless been a fine red mist to accompany their momentary screams.

He shook himself quickly, to work chunks of duracrete and metal out of the joints of his scales and armor, before taking stock.  According to a small holographic readout summoned from his helmet, he had done more damage to his armor hitting the landing than the HLF's weapons had, though even that amounted to nothing more than scratches and a minor dent.

Given the sheer weight a Dragon could heft, their lightest armor was more akin to vehicle anti-material plating than actual personal armor.  Their scales alone, unaided, could repel point-blank railgun rounds up to the medium vehicle class.  It would take far more than structural impacts and carbine fire to pose any sort of risk to the verdant reptilian.  

The real worry was the safety of the hostages.

Klarien flattened himself against the wall adjacent to the next doorway, and cautiously poked his head far enough around to get a clear view of the room beyond.

He was rewarded with a stunning flash of light, and a screech from his helmet alerting him to severe damage to the upper regions of his armor.  He cursed inwardly.  One or more of the enemies in the room were equipped with anti-vehicle railguns.

The powerful weapons were often two-man portable by means of a tripod, and posed little danger to Klarien's chest or sides.  His eyes, and certain parts of his head and neck, however, were more vulnerable.  The scales there would not be thick enough to promise absolute invulnerability to such weapons for at least another four hundred years of his life.

He briefly considered using his breath as a means to clear the room, before promptly dismissing the notion;  It was unlikely the holographic soldiers were programmed to react to his hidden talent, and if they were then the civilian hostages would be as well, which would inevitably lead to disastrous results given that his control of the ability was still awkward at best.

In the end that left only one option.  The 'direct approach.'

He tensed, muscles coiling to store energy on a level that would have put a tank's power plant two hundred percent over the red-line.  He knew that once he entered the room, the time remaining to make decisions and rescue the hostages would be cut to a matter of seconds.

For a moment, he debated holding off until Taranis made his strategy apparent.  It didn't take long for him to decide against the idea.  The Blue Dragon seemed sullen and isolationist at best.  Klarien snorted, reflecting that it would be a miracle if he hadn't compromised their scores already with his 'loner' act.

He spent a final few seconds taking stock of his armor, and the areas he would need to protect, before lunging through the entryway.  The shock of his passage, and his bulk, promptly disintegrated the frame of the door, creating a cone of choking duracrete dust, and an ear-splitting 'CRASH,' that served to sow confusion amongst his enemies.

The tenth-second delay created by the brutality of his entry gave Klarien just enough time to locate the most serious threat to his efforts;  A large anti-vehicle railgun wedged between two pillars at the far end of the room.  The emplacement was manned by two spectral digital soldiers, and protected by a series of overturned desks.

The Green Dragon lunged across the space, beating his wings once to stir up the dust further, and add to his speed.  He dug in his front claws at the last possible second, spinning and transferring all his accrued momentum into his long thick tail.

The limb, which was long on muscle and short on nerve endings, swiftly turned the makeshift defensive desks into deadly shrapnel grenades.  Slivers of plastic faux-wood ranging from human finger size, to Dragon claw size, pelted the entire far end of the chamber at lethal velocities.

The two soldiers manning the antivehicle gun died instantly, bodies riddled with momentary holographic disruptions where the flak would have torn bloody holes in living beings.

Klarien wasted no time.  He hefted the ruined weapon in both front claws, rose to his full height, and simply heaved the device at the next group of soldiers.  The fury his forelegs transferred into the maneuver lent the object so much momentum that it impaled the entire line of enemies.

Since their holographic bodies had no mass, the gun flew on, unimpeded, burying itself up to the trigger assembly in one of the room's previously unscarred walls.

Klarien paused to examine the chamber.  The hostages were bound and gagged in the center, grouped together in a huddle.  A pair of soldiers were holding ethereal weapons to their equally translucent heads, shouting and gesturing for the Dragon to surrender.

He snorted, raised his forelegs a second time, and emptied the chambers of his wrist-mounted railguns before the stunned troopers had time to react.

Klarien smiled, and was on the cusp of relaxing, when everything went horribly, unpredictably, wrong.

The first sign of trouble was the overwhelmingly loud klaxon, projected via his helmet, alerting him to a multitude of serious hits on his wings and back.

He instinctively rolled, looking up to behold upwards of a dozen heavily armored holographic Phase-II Augments dropping from the ceiling on rappelling-insertion cables.  The nano-technologically augmented soldiers carried massive shoulder-mounted RAC-8s, which they were wasting no time in emptying in the scrabbling reptile's direction.

Klarien found himself cut off.  He could not reach the hostages without taking mortal damage, and he could not find a secure place to attack from, without leaving the hostages to their imminent gruesome fate.

His deadlock was interrupted by a sound akin to the detonation of a twelve megaton thermonuclear warhead.

In a display of glittering scales, spinning chunks of duracrete, and flashing slivers of steel, Taranis descended through the roof, from above, like an enormous azure missile.

As he fell, his wings and claws snapped out, ensnaring and disemboweling several of the Augments with the force of gravity, combined with the Dragon's incredible mass.

As Taranis approached the hostages, he snapped his legs closer to his center of mass.  The limbs came down like pillars around the hostages, not even so much as scraping at the edges of their flickering forms.  The cobalt Dragon flared his wings, then furled them down into a shield around the civilians.

Before Klarien could right himself, and seize the moment, Taranis opened his jaws.  The ensuing chaos could only be described as a storm.  

Lightning, brighter than the sun and crackling with twice as much heat, flew from the space between his teeth, arcing across the entire room and promptly frying anything electronic or conductive that was not under the protective faraday-cage shell of his wings.

The blots even connected with Klarien, jolting him severely and sending a feeling akin to liquid fire through his blood and bones.  The naturally mineral-laden qualities of Dragons' scales made them, with the exception of the Blue subspecies, fairly susceptible to electricity as a means of attack, assuming they were grounded.  Klarien was most definitely grounded, and regretting it with every new tremor that wracked his muscles.

If the bolts of energy were causing Klarien pain, they were causing the simulated HLF troopers nothing short of Hell on Earth.  After only three seconds, the electricity not only overwhelmed the health-counters of the remaining simulation troopers, it atomized all the electrical componentry in all the holo emitters that had been projecting them in the first place.

With a resounding 'KRZZZT' and terrible popping noises akin to a large glacier breaking up, the emitters exploded simultaneously like small firecrackers, scoring the duracrete around their mounting points with the remainder of the energy from the reaction.

At last, after what felt like ages, but had been merely seconds, Taranis ceased his onslaught.

He slowly shifted his wings.  The hostage holograms were intact, their emitter having been protected along with the projections by the null-charge-zone the Dragon's own body had created.

Klarien, with enormous effort, finally stopped shaking and began to breathe once more.  He wheezed, then glared, "Were you *trying* to kill me?!"

Taranis raised an eyebrow, "If I had been trying to kill you, then your scales would have been turned to the equivalent of volcanic glass, your brain would have fused, then melted, and your internal organs would have given up and died within seconds from the heat."

Klarien continued to glare, gingerly forcing his way past his partner to the exit, "I think you're exaggerating."  As he reached the demolished doorway, he turned and sighed, "But please don't do that again."

Taranis tilted his head, "It worked, didn't it?"

Klarien winced, "*Not* the point."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fourteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn gazed out over the buildings and sighed.  It was disheartening to see such accomplishment laid low by a disaster no one could explain, or stop.

Nature could not be bargained with, threatened, or brute forced.  The Barrier was certainly a forceful example of the power worked into the fabric of the universe.  And all the damage it could do.

The field of energy moved slowly, but if he focused on the nearest super-skyscrapers, the Gryphon found that he could center on the millimeters surrounding the terminus of the phenomena, and watch its agonizingly slow, yet terrifyingly fast, progress as it chewed through steel, duracrete, and glass remorselessly.

A voice from his left side caught him off guard, "It is coming."  Fyrenn started, and turned to see Varan, his normally impassive expression plastered to his beak, his ears perked slightly forward.

Fyrenn gestured across the gulf from the building they were standing atop, to the glowing edge of the bubble, "The Barrier?"

"No."  At the sound of the second voice, the red Gryphon whirled to see his other sibling standing on his right, beak firmly affixed with the same dour countenance as their golden hued brother.

Varan spoke once more, his voice even more atonal than usual, "And yes. It is coming."

Fyrenn exhaled sharply, twisting his head back and forth in confusion, glancing between his brothers in turn, "I don't understand...  No?  And Yes?  What's coming?"

Fyrenn flinched as his gaze swept back around, and was arrested by another figure;  A tan and blue Gryphoness.  Neyla's expression was decidedly hostile, her ears were pinned flat, wings partially spread, claws raking at the surface beneath her.

Her eyes seemed to glow with an inborn fire, "Your end."





"Hey!"

Fyrenn inhaled sharply as his eyes snapped open.  It took his brain a millisecond to engage, nearly two billionths of a second longer than it took his reflexes to kick in.  As a result he had to forcibly arrest the impulse to lash out and strike Skye with a fisted claw.

The moment passed so quickly that the Unicorn had no perception of it.

Fyrenn sighed, and slumped back to his former resting position on the floor, "What's up?"

Skye snorted, a sound halfway between a sarcastic laugh and a sneeze, "What's up?  You were thrashing around like a fish in a net, and it was distracting.  That's up."

Fyrenn shook his head, and yawned, stretching out his forelegs, then his back legs, then his wings in sequence, "Sorry.  I don't *always* sleep lightly you know.  I do like to get better rest occasionally."

Skye  grinned, "So, feeling rested?"

Fyrenn glowered, turning his gaze to the rock of the floor below pensively, "No."

The Unicorn tilted her head, and stared, muzzle twisted into a questioning half-sneer.  Fyrenn glanced up and shook his head, then gestured to the roof of the cavern, "I don't like being underground very much.  Even in a space this big.  It makes it hard to think, sleep, and even eat for us."

This explanation seemed to satisfy Skye, who began nodding slowly and frowning in sympathy, "Sorry.  Things took about twenty minutes longer than I expected.  I didn't figure you'd use that time to go off to la la land."

Fyrenn stood, and shook himself, "So you're done?"

Skye bobbed her head slightly, "Aaaah...  Mostly.  The final decrypt is running now, but it could take anywhere from four, to fourteen minutes to actually do 'the magics.' "  As she uttered the tail end of her sentence, she raised one hoof and waggled it in the Pony equivalent of an 'air quote,' simultaneously rolling her eyes.

Fyrenn got the impression she was mocking some distant third party.

He stretched his forelegs a second time, and swept his gaze around the cavern.  Carradan was busy near the central work station, seemingly trying to goad Varan into a game of 'I spy.'  Fyrenn snorted a half-chuckle.  Despite, or perhaps because of the fact that he always won, Varan was adamantly and calmly declining.

Further down one of the crystalline rows, Kephic was busy inspecting some of the as-yet untamed geological formations, idly running a claw against the translucent minerals and watching the resulting sparks with mild interest.

Finally, Fyrenn smiled down at the Unicorn beside him.  She was akin to a sister;  One of two Ponies who held a special familial place in his heart.  He realized that he had missed her company sorely.  She possessed a singular combination of spunk, wit, and heart that was a blessing to the entire group.

Not to mention, he reflected inwardly, she was savvier and more clever with magic and technology than anyone else he had ever known in his life.  Put together.

Skye chuckled, "What are you grinning at, space cadet?"

Fyrenn snorted at the older human expression, realizing that his train of emotions had become visible in his expression, "Just thinking that it's good to see you again.  We don't do this often enough."

She snickered, "And whose fault is that?"

The burgundy and crimson Gryphon rolled his eyes, "Take it up with my CO."

"Yeah.  Sure.  Conveniently situated thousands of miles away on his royal throne, probably busy doing kingly business."

Fyrenn snorted and chuckled, "Watch it.  Sildinar has sharp ears, and Carradan even sharper."

Skye grinned wickedly, "Unless pink Pegasus there has a death wish, he won't rat on me."

Fyrenn had to make a visible effort to keep from bursting out into laughter, "Yeah...  And unless you also have a death wish, you'll never ever call him pink again.  He killed a Diamond Dog ten times his size for saying it."

The off-brown Unicorn raised an eyebrow incredulously, blowing a lock of her short-cropped zany blueish mane out of her eyes.  Fyrenn sighed, "All right, Varan helped.  But Stan did break a good few of the Troll's bones first."

Skye smiled in spite of herself, "He's getting the hang of things.  I think you guys are having a bad influence on him."

Fyrenn chuckled, "One can only hope."

After a moment of contented silence, further chance of conversation was cut short by a series of demanding tones from the computer.

Skye trotted up the stairs, and plopped into the control chair, "Lets see what you boys have gone and stepped in *this* time..."  Her hooves flew over the peculiar Equine keyboard as the members of the group swiftly assembled behind her, with Carradan jostling for a position to see over the Gryphon's wings.

The computer let out a final beep, and Skye sat back, looking more than slightly confused.  Her muzzle went through several expressions, before settling on a sullen scowl, "Well.  The good news is we decrypted the information.  The bad news is, I don't speak the language."

Kephic glanced at Fyrenn, and Varan, both of whom nodded.  They were obviously thinking precisely the same thoughts as their brother.  The speckled Gryphon whistled, long and low, "This ought to be *yoodles* of fun."

Skye glanced over her shoulder, both eyebrows raised almost to her horn, "Uh...  That's 'oodles.'  Will someone please enlighten me?"

Fyrenn glanced nervously at Skye, then at Carradan, "I nominate Stan."

The Pegasus glowered, "Gee.  Thanks."
> Chapter 11
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 14th, Gregorian Calendar

The light carrier was the staple of Earthgov command and control.  Unlike the few, and massive Area Control Vessels that headed the fleet, the light carriers were sleek and fast.

The ships were all of a fundamentally similar design;  A single long thin flight deck, a fared and sleek hull, a pair of catamarans connected by fins at the rear, and a bridge that arched over the entire flattop, at the center of the vessel, connecting to the hull via structures on either side of the deck.

A set of shield doors fore and aft of the center structure allowed aircraft to be staged, similar to the way destroyers would operate in a combat zone, even as the ship was still underwater and preparing to surface.

Since most LCAs were designed to act as troop support, logistics nodes, and command centers, they often carried a higher proportion of VTOLs than fighters, of both the transport and gunship variety.  They were also designed to sit lower on the surface than a full blown carrier, affording their water garages easy access to deploy defensive skiffs.

The profusion of support technology, personnel, and vehicles onboard left very little room for offensive armaments, and as such an LCA was entirely reliant on its special forces battalions, VTOLs, fighters, and skiffs, to make an impact.

The UES Blue Ridge, LCA-19, was the newest Light Carrier in the Earthgov fleet, and the next-to-last in the production run of large scale vessels.  No one in Naval Command felt that there was any need to spend more money and materials on capital class ships given that the planet itself was on a death clock, and the Navy was already well equipped and future-proofed.

Blue Ridge had left dry-dock only a few months prior, and was assigned to its first mission for mostly bureaucratic reasons; Why pay for extra shakedown tests when you could assign a vessel to a mission that was almost sure to be so quiet, that it would effectively provide the same opportunities?

The bridge was mostly still and silent, an oblong chamber that was far wider than it was long, its bank of windows closed off with pressure shields.  While travelling sub-surface most Naval ships kept their windows shielded incase of attack, instead projecting a three-dimensional tri-color stereoscopic representation of the outside onto the inside of the ports, effectively creating externally-aimed view screens.

Being a command ship, the bridge of Blue Ridge was mostly dominated by a holotank, and consoles dedicated to communications.  The helm and navigation controls were unconventionally placed at the rear of the bridge on a raised section to afford them a view out the main windows.

The remainder of the space was arranged horizontally, with the holotank in the center, and two horseshoe shaped console banks on either side, opening towards the center of the space.  Personnel sat both inside and outside of the U-shape, separated by vertical screens in most cases.

Unlike other ships, the main bridge windows had a significant gap aligned with the holotank;  This was taken up by an enormous edgeless always-on tactical stereoscopic holo display.

Given that the ship was not yet at full mission-deployment status, only the officer of the watch, helmsman, navigator, a LADAR operator, and a weapons operator were on duty.

The calm, punctuated only by the soft chirps of consoles and LADAR pings, was abruptly brought to an end by the arrival of the Captain.

By the time he had taken his position behind the holotank, another weapons officer, his first officer, a flight operations manager, and a surface operations manager had arrived on the bridge.  He glanced at the main tactical display, noting the ship's position on the top-down projection map.

He swiveled his head slightly to compare the information to markers projected on the fore and aft window ports, before nodding to his XO, "Rig for surface mode.  Stand by for perimeter flight and surface operations."

The commander tapped a control surface on the holotank, and folded his hands behind his back, speaking into the PA system, "General quarters.  General quarters.  All hands, prepare to surface the ship.  Alpha flight crews to ready-five, Alpha skiff crews to ready-five.  Prepare command and control systems to receive encrypted support package linkups."

After several moments of stiff, silent waiting, the Blue Ridge arrived at the precise co-ordinates of her destination marker.  The main navigational AI even sounded a small chime on the bridge.

The Captain crossed his hands behind his back and stepped towards the fore windows, "Raise the ship."

A series of repetitive, insistent tones sounded from the ship-wide alarm system.  The helmsman tapped several portions of his touch panel, and placed his hands on the large physical switches that adorned the center of the surface, "Venting ballast tanks.  Standard zero-slant ascent.  All stations, secure for surfacing turbulence."

The rumble of machinery could be felt as a small vibration through the deck plates, and the ship began to rise, as indicated by the sensation of ascent in the crew, and the passage of depth markers on the viewports.

As the vessel neared the surface, the holography vanished abruptly and the shields retracted into invisible slots, leaving the crew with a view of the murky, lifeless water as the ship neared the surface.

Suddenly, in a wash of spray and droplets, the Blue Ridge broke through the surface, rocking slightly as the forces of the tide caught the angles of the hull.  The moment the ship began to settle, crews charged out of the island's stanchions and began to prepare the deck for operations.

The Captain sighed and peered out the windows, "Launch a CAP, and put two skiffs in the water to secure our AO."  He stood in silence as the XO repeated his orders to the appropriate personnel, before tossing an observation over his shoulder, "So.  Vancouver.  Not too shabby."





Mr. Utah sighed, and let the stub of his cigarette fall to the pavement, stomping on it with the heel of his shoe.  He gazed out into the foggy California morning, and pursed his lips.

San Diego was home to a high concentration of Equestrians.  The liberal and open atmosphere of the region, which dated back to pre-winnowing times, made it a hub for diversity in the Western North-Amerizone.

To add insult to injury, it was home to the second Bureau ever opened.  A few mere months after the first complex in Manhattan, in late 2104.  As a result, San Diego ranked third highest city in the world for ratio of Converts to Humans, behind only Manhattan and London.

To Mr. Utah, that made it one of the most despicable places on the planet.

But not, he reflected with a wry grimace, entirely irredeemable.  The local cuisine was palatable, the synthetic fauna was quite prolific, and the Bureau was in the midst of security refits.  Thus, the Bureau was effectively an ideal target of opportunity.

Mr. Utah glanced up at the waitress, and frowned.  A Unicorn.  The server who had taken his order had been Human.  Nonetheless, he accepted the coffee, wincing as her magic field brushed against his hand, and scowling to make it clear that he was not in the mood for small talk.

He glanced down at the steaming drink, then over his shoulder at the retreating Equine.  Wordlessly, he leaned forward and poured the drink over the balcony of the café and onto the rocky coast below.

Touched by a Pony, tainted by a Pony.

As he drummed his fingers, and waited for the Human waitress to return, his contact finally arrived.  The man was clad in a fluorescent worker's vest covered in dried coolant and lubricant.  He clutched an equally grimy, and slightly dinged hard hat to his side, and wore a tool belt complete with a ruggedized miniature DaTab.

Mr. Utah glowered, "You're late."

The man raised an eyebrow, flopping into his chair and scratching his scruffy beard, "Yeah...  So?"

"It's cold.  And wet."

"Meh.  It's California.  If you don't like the weather?  Wait five minutes."

Mr. Utah pierced the construction worker with an icy stare, "Time is precious.  Punctuality is mandated.  Do not be late again."

The man shrugged, "Or what?  You'll dock me overtime pay?"

"Or my associates will clock you out.  Permanently.  California is the highest ranked state in this global zone for automobile accidents due to synthehol consumption."

The construction worker blanched, "Ah...  Yeah I see whatcha mean.  Punctuality.  Right."

Mr. Utah glowered, snapping his fingers to attract the waitresses' attention as she passed, then nodding down towards his empty coffee cup sharply.  He turned back to his contact, "Is the site prepared?"

"Jus' like you asked.  The building is closed for renovations, but we ain't doin' squat now that the inside is cleared out, an' its just a shell."

"You're prepared to accept delivery of the equipment?  You understand your instructions?"  Mr. Utah snatched the steaming fresh cup of coffee from the waitress as she once more arrived at the table, not even pausing to make eye contact.

The worker nodded, "Yeah;  We already signed off on your guys, and the trucks.  Soon as it comes, we open the gates, and get the hell out."

Mr. Utah took the entire cup of coffee down in one gulp, with no sweetener or cream substitute, "Good.  I appreciate efficiency.  Especially with regards to demolitions projects."





Councilor Martins straightened her suit jacket for the fourth time in fifteen minutes.  The male Unicorn standing beside her cocked a wry glower that bore more in common with a knowing friendly smile than an actual expression of malice, "You're doing it again."

Martins sighed, "Sorry Astris.  I forget.  Your compulsiveness and mine don't get along particularly well."

The Unicorn shifted his stance slightly, hooves rustling across the thin carpet.  The hallway was comfortably adorned, but not especially ostentatious;  Beige walls, dark blue business-like carpeting, and faux-wood sliding doors marked by recessed alcoves lit with tastefully dim sconce lights.

The colleagues stood before one such door at the end of the hall, counting off minutes on Martins' watch.  She hated to be early for certain meetings nearly as much as she hated to be late.  By contrast, in some cases, she considered 'on time' to be worse than late.  

Astris found it hard to keep up.  He was an astronomer by trade, not a politician.  His talent lay in discerning the movements of the stars.  Martins' lay in discerning the movements of people's minds and feelings.  And sometimes, in exploiting that knowledge for all it was worth.

The Unicorn knew that, in their present case, Martins was mostly interested in logistical efficiency and common courtesy. 
They were working with allies and comrades, not enemies.  The Counselor's compulsive need to be precisely on-time when dealing with her colleagues had always been a source of annoyance to Astris, but he took it in stride.  He knew that more than a small share of his quirks had a tendency to annoy Martins as well.

Nevertheless, the two had an excellent working relationship.  They were both very good at their jobs, and both dead set on the same goal.  Allowing humanity the option to preserve its form.  Somewhere.  Somehow.

The day's meeting had, the astronomer reflected, been called precisely because the Genesist initiative was closer than ever to finding the where, and finishing the how.

At long last, Martins' watch let out a single, subtle, dulcet tone.  She nodded, adjusted her grip on the DaTab tucked under her right arm, and pressed the control panel beside the door.  The slabs of wood-look-alike parted to reveal a large conference room.

A dozen suited Humans, and a few Ponies, were in the process of arriving by the space's other two entrances, and taking their seats.

Martins stepped through the portal, followed by Astris.  The pair each took only a brief moment to glance out the windows that made up the room's opposite wall.  The torrential rains of the morning had given way to an all-consuming fog that completely obscured the London skyline.

As he seated himself beside Martins, at the head of the table, Astris allowed himself a brief moment of distraction to wonder how the Counselor dealt with the 'jet lag,' as Humans called it.  Africa one day, Vancouver for a few, New York on short notice, and then to London.  All in less than two weeks.  

He allowed himself a tiny grin.  Perhaps, if she ever had a cutie mark, it would be a Human 'tank.'  The metaphor for resilience, stamina, aggressive manner, and determination seemed appropriate.  And the last time Astris had seen someone cross Martins, they had ended up looking not unlike the victim of a railgun shell.

As the Genesist Party board finished situating themselves around the room-length granite table, Martins cleared her throat, "Members of the board;  I call this emergency meeting to order."

She waited a moment for the murmurs to settle, glancing at each board member in turn, "To explain why we're here, I am turning this over to one of our senior astronomers.  Astris Lux."

The Unicorn disliked public speaking, but it was merely simple distaste.  There was no real fear behind it.  Usually once he got started on a subject of interest to him, he could forget the audience entirely and get into a good flow.

He stood, and smiled briefly at Martins, "Thank you Counselor."  He swept his own gaze across the room, mimicking Martins.  Both Humans and Equestrians were always advising him to 'maintain eye contact' when speaking publicly.

"As you know, our facility in Lucapa devotes considerable resources to finding habitable worlds beyond this one.  Assuming we complete even the full run of eighty four sleeper ships, we need to have a destination in mind before we can work out their course, provisioning schemes, and even certain final elements of their design."

Astris swiped one hoof through the air above the control pad by his seat, activating the main screen at the head of the room, "Well.  We've found a destination."

After a second of total silence, the room erupted into intense whispered and murmured conversation.

The Unicorn allowed the dull roar to propagate for a moment, before continuing to speak forcefully.  As he did so, the conversation gradually died, "M Class.  Elliptical orbit.  Main Sequence star.  Nominal sidereal period.  Multi-month orbital period.  Primarily Nitrogen/Oxygen atmosphere at suitable pressure.  Surface temperatures in the ideal zone.  High concentrations of liquid water.  Comfortable gravitation."

Astris began pacing before the screen, "This describes almost ten percent of the worlds in cluster AC-1359-AA-22-Z2.  That is, at minimum conservative estimate, over eighty ideal-candidate planets."

After almost five seconds of silence, Martins nodded, "We've done a great deal of legwork to confirm.  This is *real.*  And potentially?  Reachable."

A man at the opposite end of the table frowned, fidgeting with the end of his tie, "I thought we were still decades away from a faster-than-light drive?"

Martins grinned like a shark, "We were.  Until about five years ago, when we began quietly exploring options to fuse magic and technology to get the job done.  As of now?  We are less than three months away from a first test."

The board was on the verge of exploding into protest.  Astris could see it in their faces.  Martins raised a hand for silence, and incredibly, she succeeded.  She leaned forward, placing her hands on the table, "Before you begin the doubtless long stream of questions and protests---"

Astris stiffened and held up a hoof, "Shhhh."

Martins stared at him, raising her eyebrow in an expression that said 'EXCUSE me?' almost as forcefully as if she had uttered the words.  Nevertheless, the silence bought Astris time to verify what his ears were telling him, "Do you hear that?"

The human members of the board glanced at each other in confusion, but one of the Ponies further down the table cocked her head, then nodded and glanced up at Astris, "Sounds like a high pitched whine.  Maybe a camera flash or---"

Astris flattened his ears, "Or a bomb."

Most of the board members had expressions ranging from dumbfounded confusion, to disbelieving amusement plastered to their faces.  But Martins' countenance was grim.  She knew Astris.  She trusted Astris.  He was potentially the most observant being in the room.

Martins stood, and gestured to the door, "Everyone out.  *Now!*"

Almost half the room began to stand, and shuffle towards the doors, but the entire scene instantly ground to a halt as one of the board members snorted, "This is ridiculous.  We're going to evacuate because one of our astronomers heard an off-pitch holoemitter warming up?"

Astris was about to protest, when the whine, previously only discernable to Equine ears, rose in volume and became audible to all.

His eyes widened, and as the pitch of the unseen device reached feverish levels, he whirled and leapt at Councilor Martins, who was standing in the just-opened doorframe, "GET DOWN!"

After that, everything happened in such swift succession that Astris had to replay it over and over in his mind afterwards to get it straight.

As he and Martins sailed through the door into the hall, the whine intensified to a painful level.  Nearly two thirds of the board members were able to scramble out of the room's three exits, before the whine abruptly ended in a loud 'POOF.'

The noise came just as Astris and Martins hit the floor.  The Councilor struggled reflexively, but Astris shook his head, "No! Wait!"

An instant later his worst fears were confirmed as he felt the cool mist of liquid landing on his back and clumping in the fur there.  Martins' eyes widened, "My God..."

The Unicorn glanced over his flank to see the board room engulfed in a purple cloud that was slowly settling over the table, chairs, and members who had failed to heed the warning in time.

As he turned his gaze back to his friend, he noted that the hallway was spattered all over with lavender goop;  A tertiary effect of the Potion Bomb's detonation.  He held up a hoof, "Councilor...  Be very very careful.  *I'm* covered in Potion, the *floor* is covered in Potion, and if you make any sudden moves *you* will be covered in Potion."

Martins nodded slowly, "I'm going to move on the count of three.  One.  Two..."

Astris tensed.

"Three."  As Martins spoke, he calmly pushed himself backwards, using the floor as leverage.  As he fell away into a puddle of Potion, which was harmless to him, Martins crabbed backwards swiftly, purposefully, and carefully.  She looked, for all the world, as if she wasn't even afraid.

Astris stood at almost the same time as Martins did, resisting the urge to shake himself and send globs of the purple substance coating his fur flying in all directions.

Martins, having safely reached the opposite end of the hallway, whistled.  

She shook her head slowly, "Damn."





"Well...  No civilians died, so you've got that going for you, the likely injuries notwithstanding."  

Hutch set DaTab he had been reading down on a workbench, and leaned against the steel surface, crossing his arms, "But you two did a lot of damage.  You didn't co-operate, didn't pre-plan your insertion.  One of you nearly got yourself and the hostages killed, and one of you nearly killed the other in the process of saving the hostages.  Did I miss anything?"

Taranis thrummed as he set down his helmet, filling the armor bay with a resounding clang, "An accurate account from a factual standpoint.  Though it was slightly emotionally biased."

Klarien huffed, "Biased?  Right...  My head is *still* splitting---"

The cobalt Dragon raised an eyebrow, "The situation would not have deteriorated, had you followed me instead of your own path."

The Green Dragon raised an eyebrow, "Why.  Why should I have followed you?  Why not you follow me?"

Taranis glared, though his voice remained calm, "Because I have decades of military experience.  You don't have nearly the same level of tactical expertise.  You even told the General you hoped to learn from him."

Klarien hissed in self recrimination, and pinched the scales between his eyes, "Yes...  Yes I did.  I suppose I was just hoping to make a good impression."

The blue Dragon raised an eyebrow, "You have potential.  But nothing much more than that."

Klarien hissed again, an aggressive tone creeping into his voice, "Is that an insult?"

Taranis gazed at him, unblinking, "Any fool can train for years, and still be limited by a lack of raw talent.  You *have* raw talent.  Do you think that assesment an insult?"

Hutch held up a hand, "Regardless of what either of you think, command agrees.  Klarien;  You have a great deal of potential.  Taranis...  You're very skilled.  But unorthodox.  You managed to piss off the rest of the JRSF command board with that simulation 'performance.'  So here's how it works now..."

The General paused, the only sound in the Fort Hamilton armor bay was the hum of the lights embedded in the concrete ceiling.  Hutch glanced back and forth between the Dragons, "You *are* going to be deployed to hunt the HLF ties to the Occupy Bureaus movement.  Taranis, you're in charge.  Klarien, you're his partner.  And you both report directly to JRSF command board, via me."

Klarien inhaled slowly, "And if we end up with another... 'performance' on our claws?  And we upset the command staff again?"

Hutch shrugged, "We can't prosecute, or punish you.  They'll kick you out of the JRSF, might even ask you firmly to leave Earth.  But I think the main reason you ought to ensure you don't drop another 'performance' like that is because it would damage the JRSF, damage the Bureaus, damage the reputation of your species, and *destroy* our chances of nailing these scum-sucking leeches who are feeding the HOB bomb materials."

The green Dragon sighed, "Good points."

Taranis nodded, "Indeed.  When do we begin?"

The General tapped the DaTab absently with his index finger, "Tomorrow.  I'll see you both here.  with any luck I'll come bearing gifts."

Hutch stood, collected his DaTab, and began marching out of the armor bay.  Klarien cocked his head, "Gifts?"

Hutch nodded, without turning or slowing his pace, "Metallurgical analysis of the bomb fragments.  Merry Christmas."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fifteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

She found Cloudsdale to be as comfortable a living place as she had ever inhabited.  The architecture was far less solid than what she had been raised with, but it had its own ephemeral appeal.  Perhaps even beauty.

The Pegasus shivered;  The air temperature was dropping sharply in preparation for an oncoming storm of epic proportions.  She would be able to go home and sleep through the event.  Her work had more to do with permanent rainbows, which provided several architectural and magical benefits to the city as a whole.  She had no role in direct weather manipulation.

She paused on the cloud outside the factory, and stretched.  She didn't know her co-workers well, but they were nice enough to her.  Occasionally she joined them for drinks.  But she felt tired, and had no desire to make her way home, in a massive storm, while 'buzzed.'

The Pegasus finished stretching, and beat down sharply with her wings, ascending rapidly.  The storm clouds had already begun to gather, and gain their own momentum, as energy was fed into them by professional weather-Ponies, creating a temporarily self-sustaining momentum-gaining reaction of pressure, moisture, and temperature change.

She arrived at the entrance to her apartment complex with a minute of spare time;  Exactly sixty seconds on the dot according to her calculations.  She had her routines down to a science.  It helped her cope.

As she fished a key from her saddlebags, she paused and stiffened.  A familiar sensation, one she had not felt in years, had begun to creep up her neck, raising the fur on the nape.  Immediately, she whirled.

What she beheld confused her, but only for the briefest of moments.  She stared into the eyes of her mirror image.  An identical twin, right down to the tiniest aspects of shading in her mane.

As her mind went from civilian mode to combat mode, comprehension instantly dawned, and she glared, "So.  That's how it is then?"

As her doppelganger spoke, voice eerily similar to her own not only in tone, but inflection and cadence, she swiveled her head and noticed three male Pegasi slowly stepping out of the shadows, hooves silent against the surface of the clouds.

"Naturally.  Tragically, you cut things too close.  Got caught in the storm on the way home.  They'll find our body sometime tomorrow...  Perhaps the day after.  You don't seem to have many friends to show for these last years...  And once they verify that it is in fact you, down to the cells..."

The original Pegasus nodded, her muzzle turned down, "They will stop looking.  So what did you do to draw suicide role?  Piss off your hive queen?"

Her twin smirked, "I volunteered.  I am almost twenty one.  My time is at hand in *any* case.  This is an admirable way to serve.  One, Two, and Four will be amply equipped to restrain, and carry you.  Leaving me behind ensures that they will not be followed, and you will not be missed."

The Pegasus glared at her illicit twin.  She knew the Changeling would not hesitate to fly directly into the teeth of the storm, intentionally killing herself and sending her body plummeting to the ground far below.  

The practice was a common method of abduction.  If an infiltrator chose to shift completely to a form, they could lock themselves in it and loose all connection to their base state.  The advantage, to the Hive's purposes, was often to create dead bodies that were indistinguishable, even by magical detection, from the original.

The other infiltrators, the ones her double had referred to as One and Two, approached.  One roughly yanked the saddlebags off her back, and Two pulled the apartment key from her mouth.  The latter dropped the glistening gold item into the bags, as One fitted them to her twin.

The mirror image smiled coyly, "Are you sure you don't want to kiss yourself goodbye?"

The Pegasus spat, "Go to Tartarus."

Her doppelganger chuckled as she snapped open her purloined wings, and began to hover, "That's the idea!"

One sighed deeply, "This can be as simple, or complicated, as you desire.  But be aware;  The latter choice will involve a proportionately greater level of pain for you."

The Pegasus rolled her eyes, "Well.  I have been accused of being a masochist."

Without any further warning, she lashed out with her back hooves, catching Four off guard.  He tumbled sideways into Two, sending the pair rolling across the clouds in a tangled mess.  She took advantage of the distraction to open her wings, and shove downwards as hard as possible, blasting off with the maximum force of magical boost she could muster.

As she passed safe city-navigation speeds, vapor cones forming on her passive magical displacement field, the rain began to fall, driven sideways by gusts of incredibly powerful wind that threatened to overwhelm the envelope of her innate magical protection.  She chanced a look over one shoulder, and winced.  One was closer than she would have liked, Two wasn't far behind.  Worse still;  Four was nowhere to be seen.

She rolled left, to avoid being ambushed, then dove abruptly to avoid a cyclonic air current.  The latter maneuver proved to be her undoing.

Four had unwisely, but successfully, braved the current, and used its momentum to launch himself onto her back, forcing them into an uncontrolled tumble that was mercifully cushioned by the clouds of a nearby building roof.  They punctured the layer of white fluffy moisture, finally rolling to a stop on the upper floor.

She wasted no time in delivering a vicious bite, crabbing backwards as Four juked away, the green back-facets of his eyes glittering as a bolt of lightning split the sky outside.

The floor fluctuated slightly as One and Two entered through an open window, joining their compatriot and once more surrounding the female Pegasus.

She huffed, "Really?  This is your strategy?  With your lack of coordination, it's virtually guaranteed that I'm going to kill one of you.  That's going to make dragging me all the way back to your Hive a truly 'enjoyable' experience for the two survivors."

One glowered, but his tone remained eerily emotionless, "Why is it so difficult for you to simply accept your fate calmly?"

The Pegasus raised an eyebrow, "It's called feeling emotions for *yourself.*  You should try it sometime.  Much like slicing off your own muzzle and swallowing it, it would be an improvement."

One glanced between his two subordinates, "Take her.  Please try to avoid unduly damaging her."

The besieged Pegasus opened her wings, and tensed, stretching out into a pre-battle position, "You want me?  Fine.  I'm going to make you earn your capture in *blood.*"

Before the battle could be joined, on the instant before she planned to pounce, a familiar object whistled through the air, passing through Four's skull and continuing on through the cloud of the floor.  A long, thick, heavy Gryphon Arbalest bolt.

Four stood staring cross-eyed at the three inch wide, bleeding hole in his skull, before wincing, and concentrating.  Within moments, he had dropped his morph, resuming his default Changeling Drone shape and repairing his distributed, redundant internal organs in the process.

One and Two swiftly followed suit.

The owners of the arbalest bolt hit the building like the storm itself, tearing through the roof so violently that most of it sheared off and drifted away as wild wisps of cloud, to be sucked up by the storm.

The Pegasus sighed as she recognized a male Pegasus, and three Gryphons, along with an unfamiliar Unicorn who leapt off the back of the latter avian.  She blew a strand of mane out of her eyes, and glared, "Why in Discord's name are *you* here?"

Fyrenn snorted, " 'Oh! Thank you for coming to the rescue!'  I don't suppose gratitude is too much to ask?"  The red Gryphon unsheathed his sword, and levelled it at One, glaring.

Carradan shrugged as he squared off with Four, "It's... *her.*  What do you expect?"

Skye raised an eyebrow in disgust, "Um... No!  You are not seriously gonna tell me that *this* is the witch you replaced me with.  *This* is IJ?"

Kephic inhaled and winced, "Skye?  IJ.  IJ?  Skye."

Varan exhaled slowly, speaking in a dry tone, "And may God look upon this day with mercy."
> Chapter 12
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Fifteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

As a chitin-armored hoof swept through the space her head had occupied moments before, IJ grunted and twirled, catching her opponent across the head with one wing and buying herself breathing room, "Why *are* you here?  Is Celestia watching me that closely still?"  The milky white Pegasus grunted, and slammed her back hooves into Four as he strayed too close.

Varan parried a swift and terrible assault from Two as he answered.  The fact that he was utterly unfazed by the peril of the situation reflected in his placid tone, "We came to ask your assistance in translating something written in Changeling.  We arrived just in time to discover that you were under attack."

Kephic screeched, and embedded his sword into One as Fyrenn distracted the drone with a lightning quick parry.  One hissed in pain, but pulled away and seemed to be mostly unharmed.  His skin boiled temporarily like a pot of stew, before resettling sans wound.

The Speckled Gryphon glowered, "Would you rather we'd let you handle them by yourself?!"

IJ huffed, "I had it sorted.  I wasn't spawned yesterday!"  She grit her teeth, adding emphasis to the last word as she ducked under a renewed assault from Two, who had temporarily eluded Varan.

From experience IJ knew that their enemies were dangerous.  She had been a Changeling once herself;  Her name, short for 'Inside Joke,'  had been her final cover assignment.  She had spent weeks travelling with Fyrenn, Kephic, Varan, Neyla, and Carradan on a mission.  Her objective had been to collect Gryphon life-code samples, and report on their actions to the Queen.

When she had been discovered by Neyla, Fyrenn and the others had, to varying degrees, interceded on her behalf, thanks in no small part to the fact that she had passed up an opportunity to betray them and escape cleanly.  

Celestia had taken that into consideration and, as punishment, consigned her to live permanently in her Pegasus morph. 

She had forced her to fully shift.  

Changeling morphing required a Drone to keep a hold of several percent of their own base life-code.  They could shift entirely to a form, but doing so was an irrevocable choice.  For some forms, the required percentage of 'anchor' was higher than others.  For Ponies it was quite low, for Gryphons quite high.

In the end, the latter had never much mattered.  No Changeling had ever escaped a mission to acquire Gryphon life code.  One of the greatest shames of the Hive, and greatest tactical disadvantages.

Celestia's act was not entirely one of punishment.  Changeling Drones' life spans were short, on the order of twenty years, and Ponies' were quite long, often numbering well over a century.  With IJ's new life came the promise of a new future.  Try as she might, however, she had never quite been able to adjust to life in Cloudsdale.  She would never admit it, but it had its moments and pleasures.  

Nonetheless, it wasn't her home.

She hadn't seen her spawn place since the attempted Changeling assault on Canterlot years prior.  During the route and retreat she had been given instructions through the Hive Mind to embed herself in the Royal Guard.  Apparently the Queen herself had maintained, temporarily, close access to the Captain of the Guard himself, allowing her to lay backstops for the infiltration.

IJ's appearance still reflected the events.  Her coat was white and adorned with a divided drama mask cutie mark.  Her mane was bright blue and short cropped.  Like a Royal Guard.  Unlike the guards, it was not dye in her case;  It had been simpler to just morph the colors completely.  

So she was stuck with them.

She rammed her front hooves into Four, taking advantage of a moment of distraction.

The last time she had seen Drones fighting, they had been in an incredibly weakened state.  The product of mass famine.  They had relied, foolishly, on pure swarming numbers and 'Pony passivity' to win them the day.  But Celestia's hoof-picked proteges had put a stop to the invasion in short order.  IJ had personally witnessed dozens if not hundreds of Drones defeated by six Ponies alone.

The Drones she and her rescuers were facing, however, were a smaller and much more lethal force.  A fully rested and prepared Changeling, while not quite as fast as a Gryphon, came very very close.  A combat ready Hive Drone was one of the most dangerous warriors in Equestria, something the Gryphons would even admit aloud if asked, whcih said something in and of itself.  

The remainder of the speed and agility gap between Changelings, and species like the Gryphons, was more than compensated for by the ability to use morphing to move and duplicate internal organs, repair wounds, and shut down pain receptors.

It was energy intensive in the extreme, making it useless for large scale battles in the modern era of low emotional resources, but the Drones they were facing had clearly been infused with love from Chrysalis herself.  Ample to their task, with surplus left over.

Under most circumstances, any enemy would have fled from three Gryphons, let alone ones backed by Ponies;  But the Drones, while they had no hope of defeating the avians out and out, did still have a chance to subdue IJ and make off with her.

If they could render her unconscious, they would likely be able to hold off the others long enough to morph Pegasi, and carry her away.  With their access to innate weather magic and multi-Mach speeds, they would be able to loose her rescuers in the storm, and make good on their escape.

IJ groaned.  As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she realized she did need a rescue.

There was only one logical course.  Using a brief moment of free movement, IJ launched herself between Four and Two, landing beside Fyrenn and Kephic, and placing her firmly out of reach of the attacking Drones.  The sense of relief was immediate, and she found its depth surprising.

Fyrenn grinned at One, "Come on then!  Is this suddenly starting to look a little less like the one-sided fight you had your shriveled little chitinous hearts set on?"

Carradan winced, and glared, ears pinned flat, "Ahhhh... Do we really have to antagonize them?"

The Gryphons tensed, spreading out into a semi-circle with weapons raised in defensive positions that covered all possible angles of attack.  Skye slowly crabbed to the side to make it easier to provide defensive magic for Carradan if necessary.  The move brought her slightly closer to IJ, who glowered, "Stay out of my way horn-head."

Skye snorted, "Relax miss priss.  There is *no* danger of you being close enough to my league for me to get in your way."

Any further chance of argument was precluded by the Drones.  Two bowed his head, eyes glittering with calculating malice, and stepped backwards, taking up a seated position on the floor.  As One and Four spread out, crouching into ready positions, Two's twisted horn began to glow softly;  Wings rustling absently and muzzle moving swiftly as he quietly uttered enchantments, or mnemonics to help him remember the components of a complex spell.

IJ's brow knit reflexively.  Their enemies were too far from the Hive to leverage the perfect and infinite memory that it provided.  Whatever Two intended to do, it was likely unpleasant.  She had never seen Unicorns use mnemonics to remember spell components in her time at Canterlot, save for the mages and captains in the Royal Guard's inner circle.  Their spells were stunningly powerful, and far beyond the ken of an average mage.

She glanced up at Fyrenn, "You can't let him finish that spell."

Kephic adjusted the grip on his sword, never breaking eye contact with Four, "Why?"

IJ sighed, "Well I don't know!  I suppose it *could* be the fact that any spell requiring a mnemonic to remember its components, being cast by a sworn enemy of yours, sent here to drug me and carry me away into the night, should be *concerning* to you.  But I suppose that's just a theory."

Kephic shot a sideways glance at Fyrenn, sighing, "I suppose its too late to just hand her over to them and pretend this never happened?"

Varan twirled his mace lazily in a wide arc, shaking his head briefly, "Many years too late.  In some small way perhaps, we still owe her.  To say nothing of what honor requires of us."

The speckled Gryphon sighed again, deeply, "Are you *ever* going to understand sarcasm?"

Fyrenn shrugged, "Maybe IJ can give him pointers when we're done here."

One rolled his eyes slowly, "*Enough.*  Does your kind always waste this much time with words?"

The red Gryphon smiled, beak glinting as a bolt of lightning temporarily drove the illumination in the ruined attic to blinding levels, "Who said it was a waste?"

As he spoke, he lunged forward, bringing his sword down in a tight arc that ended with the tip buried in One's left eye.  The stroke would have entirely decapitated One if he hadn't jumped backwards instinctively.  

The Drones had been ever-so-briefly blinded by the lightning.  Their eyes were primarily adapted to night vision, thus possessing very little default protection against brightness or rapid changes in light level.

The Gryphons, on the other claw, had eyes suited to any conceivable light level, and were able to adapt to instantaneous and vast changes in illumination with almost zero lag time to full image resolution.

One hissed in anger, his right eye gaining enough focus for him to lunge upwards and sideways, in the counter-diagonal direction of Fyrenn's stroke.  The move was well planned.  It allowed him to avoid being caught by the sword's return arc.

As Kephic engaged Four, Varan sidestepped to a position from which he could strike at any of the Drones if they attempted to approach the three Ponies.

One attempted to sink his long fangs into Fyrenn's back as he passed over, but the Gryphon gracefully sidestepped, and batted the Drone away with one of his wings.  The joint-protecting armor plate produced a satisfying 'CLANG' as it impacted One's skull.

As One spun away, managing to right himself and land on all four hooves, Fyrenn noted that his enemy's left eye had already healed.

Kephic was having similar troubles with Four.  While a direct blow from any of the Gryphons would doubtless sever one of the Changeling's heads, and render their incredible healing useless, they seemed more than agile enough to avoid falling prey to such a stroke.

Their chitinous natural armor, distributed redundant organs, and regeneration powers, allowed them to shrug off 'glancing' blows that would have permanently maimed, or outright killed any other similarly sized creature.

Fyrenn had studied much of what Gryphons knew about potential enemy races in Equestria;  He knew the Drones' combat effectiveness was directly proportionate to their energy reserves, and that their energy was dependent on sapping emotions from Ponies.

That meant that One, Two, and Four could only keep pace with the Gryphons for a limited amount of time.  Kephic, Varan, and Fyrenn had all eaten recently.  They were potentially able to fight for hours or even days at a steady defensive pace, without stopping.  Longer still assuming they could break briefly to imbibe more water and limited additional nutrition.

Fyrenn glanced over his shoulder at IJ, as he circled One slowly, "How long can they keep this up?"

IJ shook her head, "No way to know for sure.  But I'd guess no more than a few minutes.  They don't have the support of the Hive at this range."

Kephic offered Varan a nod.  The gesture passed so quickly, that all three Ponies completely missed it.  The latter Gryphon lunged from his guard position, mace raised, making a beeline for Two.

At the same instant, Kephic and Fyrenn renewed their attacks with added intensity, ensuring that One and Four would be unable to interfere with Varan, or take advantage of the fact that the three Ponies were suddenly relatively unprotected.

As the glow around Two's horn slowly began to build, Varan brought the mace down towards the Drone's head at full speed, providing it with more than enough momentum to ensure it would shatter the carapace, brain, horn, and parts of the spine.

Two's eyes were shut tight, and his concentration was fixed rigidly on his burgeoning spell.

Yet, incredibly, Varan's strike missed, grazing his foe's side and crushing several of the chitin plates protecting the area where the ribs would be in a Pony.

The Drone had, somehow, managed to perceive the attack and skitter to the side just in time to avoid a grisly and instantaneous death.  Varan gazed on with a mixture of confusion, and well-controlled anger.  His attack had, at least, caused Two to loose some of his concentration, setting him back and buying the Gryphons time.

IJ shouted above the howl of the wind, "They're sharing information and perceptions simultaneously!  They're probably linked in a miniature semi-hive cluster!"

Kephic growled as he achieved a hit on Four's back right hoof, "I don't suppose it occurred to you to tell us this *sooner?!*"

Skye sat down hard with a thump, and shut her eyes tightly.  Carradan's wings flared slightly in concern, "Aaahhh...  If you don't mind my asking...  What're you doing?"

Skye grinned slightly, "Information theory is my skill.  They're passing information between each other.  You ever see what happens if you put a DaTab inside a microwave?"

Stan's ears flattened nervously, "Yyyyesss...  Why?"

The Unicorn's horn began to glow, softly at first, but with steadily rising intensity, "Because that's what I'm going to do to their brains if they don't drop their telepathic link."

IJ huffed, "Amateur.  Its not true telepathy in the sense of the main Hive.  They probably can't share every thought or word, only critic..."

Skye cut her off abruptly, without turning or opening her eyes, "You want to help end this battle?  Then do *everyone* a *huge* tremendous favor.  Shut the buck up."

As the Unicorn's spell began to coalesce, the Gryphons' battles intensified.  The Drones knew their window of opportunity was within inches of slamming shut, and the imperative of urgency lent them bursts of speed and fury.

Fyrenn suddenly found himself facing a new threat;  One grinned wickedly, the first sign of emotion that had crossed his muzzle, and flexed his hooves.  The chitin around what would have been the fetlocks lengthened and sharpened, resulting in a set of serrated obsidian colored biological blades.  The holes that seemed so endemic to Changeling anatomy swiftly vanished under layers of added chitin armor.

By the time the process had finished, One looked more like a nightmarish cybernetic weapons platform than a living creature.

He began to circle once more, insectoid wings twitching, eyes locked with Fyrenn's, "I have fought your kind before.  In defense of my home.  Many were weak, but I was strong.  I survived."

Fyrenn twitched his sword left, then right, watching the Changeling's reactions right down to millimeter changes in his pupil dilation, "Sure.  But your home didn't fare too well as I understand it.  I'll admit, your armor is a nice trick..." 

Fyrenn paused, and smiled as he felt a tell-tale tingling in the feathers at the base of his skull, he casually sheathed his sword, much to One's confusion, as he spoke, "Sooo...  How are you going to account for the next lightning strike?"

The blazing, forking, blinding streak of illumination split the sky the instant the words left Fyrenn's beak.  As the thunder roared with the force of an angry Dragon, he lunged forward and began to grapple with One claw-to-hoof.

The Changeling was nearly as fast as he was, but far weaker in terms of actual muscular power.  Fyrenn slammed his gauntlets, and fisted claws into One's hooves repeatedly, allowing the impacts to weaken the muscles even further.

As they flew through the air on the momentum of Fyrenn's lunge, One attempted to rake the Gryphon's chest-plate with small blades on his back hooves.  Fyrenn blocked with his back claws, and responded by clubbing One's head and back repeatedly with the armored plating attached to his wing joints, swiftly shattering the carapace of the Drone's back and neck in a series of brutal and well-aimed strokes.

The pair hit the cloud of the floor hard enough to deform it.  One tried to roll away, but Fyrenn curled his wings into a preventative barrier, placing extra pressure on One's chest with his forelegs and front claws.

As One continued to lash out frantically with all four legs, Fyrenn grunted, "You know something else?"  He flicked his wrists.  Blades snapped out from their hidden compartments in his foreleg gauntlets.

One's eyes fixed instantly on the sharp edges.  He ceased his struggles momentarily, and began to concentrate.  Judging by the roiling bulges beneath his plating, Fyrenn guessed he was morphing extra muscles.  The measure was too-little, too-late.  The Gryphon smiled, and pressed the blades towards One's glittering eyes.

"I have hidden blades too."

One managed to throw Fyrenn off, but not before the Gryphon completely punctured both of his eyes.  The injury didn't seem to cause the Drone any pain, but it did send him staggering backwards into a corner as he tried feverishly to regenerate his optic nerves and corneal structures.

Kephic had managed to corral Four into a corner, and seemed to be content to keep the Drone confined until he wore himself out and provided the Gryphon an opening for a killing strike.

Varan had squared off once more with Two, but the Drone had continued to avoid all his strikes, using One and Four's perceptions to feel out the battlefield from multiple angles, while still amazingly maintaining some sort of concentration on his spell.  The sickly green glow around his horn had grown to a bright halo, a fact which Fyrenn noted with deep concern.

He chanced a cursory look over his shoulder, and noted that Skye seemed to have made great progress with her own spell. 
The purple tinged bluish aura around her horn had reaching blinding levels.

Just as One managed to finish regenerating his eyes, complete with a set of secondary internal lenses for faster light adaptation, Skye let loose.

A series of hazy blue waves began to pulse from her horn, filling the room with a soft suffused light.  As the waves struck the Changeling's horns, they produced sparks.  The Drones winced, as one.  As the waves continued, their horns began to glow.  Rather than a magical luminescence, however, the effect was more akin to a hot coal in a fire pit.

All at once, the sparks and heating effect ceased as a brief green crackle shot from each Drone's horn.  They had dropped their pseudo-hive connection in the interest of saving their own brains from being fried by whatever insidious feedback-loop Skye had generated.

Unfortunately, Two made good use of the confusion, and let his spell fly indiscriminately.

The magic took the form of a strong green blast wave that erupted outwards towards the three Ponies in the center of the room.

Skye acted quickly, throwing herself in front of Carradan and erecting a small magical barrier that took the form of a blue translucent quarter-dome.  Two's spell broke on the defensive structure like water on a rock, causing Skye to wince slightly at the drain, but doing no other damage.

The wave passed over Kephic and Varan as well, but their Gryphic magical immunity meant that, irrespective of its purpose, it was of no concern to them.

IJ was not as fortunate.

The wave created a cascade of greenish-blue light around her head, reminiscent of an aurora.  She cried out in pain, and the sound galvanized the Gryphons into action.

Fyrenn lashed out once more, fully severing One's front right hoof from his body as the chaos of the moment distracted the Drone.

Kephic was able to force Four to the ground, and with a ferocious victory cry, dropped his sword and ripped the Changelings leathery translucent wings directly from their sockets.

Varan, for his part, moved towards Two, who had expended all his energy on the spell. The golden Gryphon wasted no time. 
Despite the Drone's whimpering cries for mercy, he swiftly embedded his mace in its skull.

The impact was strong enough to completely dissociate Two's head from the top of his spinal column, sending the entire assembly flying through the hole in the roof and out of sight.  The body, now free both of life, and thus of whatever internal morph had given it cloudwalking magic, fell through the floor and vanished.

Fyrenn crabbed backwards, and shouted to IJ above the din of the storm, "Are you alright?!  TALK to me!"

IJ shook herself, wincing, and staggered to her feet, hooves shaking under her weight, "I...  I'm fine.  I'm fine."

Fyrenn drew his bow, snapping the legs into place, and knocked an arrow.  He sighted directly at One's left eye and glowered, "You want to follow your comrade?  It's three of us and two of you now.  And you've made us all *very* angry."  

As if to lend emphasis to his brother's words, Varan quietly moved to stand beside Fyrenn, thumping the green viscera covered end of his mace into one open claw rhythmically.

As Four tried to scramble out of his corner, the stubs of his wings slowly beginning to regrow, Kephic hissed, giving the Drone pause.

Fyrenn continued, his tone dangerously low and calm, "Now.  Either stay, and lose your heads like your unfortunate friend.  Or listen to me, and take me on this offer, because I'm only going to give it once;  Get. Out. Now."

One hissed, baring his fangs.  Kephic finally allowed Four to hobble over and join the other Drone.  One wrapped his good hoof around his compatriot, beating his own wings and doubtless morphing an internal structure to provide access to Pegasus lifting magic. 

"This is not over."

Varan tapped the end of his mace against the floor, "No indeed.  I suspect it will not be over until you are dead, and picked apart by carrion."

Kephic grinned wickedly, "Assuming, of course, you make it through the storm alive.  If you had enough energy left to morph new Pegasus bodies, you'd have done it by now."

Fyrenn waved with one claw, his voice dripping with malicious sarcasm, "Have a nice flight."

One glared in a rare display of fury, but hobbled dutifully in a one-hundred-eighty degree circle, and leapt through the rend in the ceiling, dragging Four with him.  The pair swiftly vanished into the rumbling black thunderheads above.

Kephic knit his brow, "Think they'll make it?"

IJ limped over, her legs slowly beginning to steady.  She clapped a hoof to her head, "Mmmph.  Unfortunately?  Yes.  The storm is starting to abate."

Fyrenn sheathed his sword, and turned to her in concern, dropping to all-fours to bring his head closer to her level, "Are you sure you're alright?  What did they try to do to you?"

The Pegasus shook her head, "I think they were trying to forcibly link me to them so they could overpower me."

Carradan cocked his head, eyes widening in fear, "Did it work?"

Skye and IJ spoke virtually in unison, "Does it look like it?"

The Ponies glared at each other.  Kephic had to resist the urge to chuckle.  Fyrenn sighed, "Well.  Once the storm abates entirely, I feel like we all deserve a rest.  And we need to see about translating those sheafs."

Varan nodded, "To say nothing of reporting what has transpired to the city watch."  He paused and raised an eyebrow, "We will be reporting this, yes?"

Kephic chuckled, "Are you kidding?"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 14th, Gregorian Calendar


"We are quite sure?  We achieved the desired result?"  Veritas stared directly through the holotank projection.  Her cerulean eyes seemed to pierce the floating translucent image with the intensity of white-hot steel.

The woman on the opposite side of the room nodded, working up the composure to maintain a professional stance and nonplussed expression despite the purple Unicorn's disconcerting gaze, "At least one third of the Genesist Party governing board were in the room at the time of the detonation.  Several of the highest value targets escaped, but the mission did accomplish base stated minimum objectives."

Near-silence hung over the room for several moments.  The only sound in the circular, dim chamber, was the hum of the air circulation system, and the accompanying trill of holographic readouts.

Most of the room was taken up with the central holotank.  There were no furnishings;  Simply a series of holographic control readouts projected over the gray paneling of the walls, and a single sliding opaque double door for entry and exit.

The woman shuffled, her nervousness beginning to breach the seals of her external comport.  Known only by the enigmatic name 'Veritas', the amethyst toned, navy maned Unicorn had firmly cemented her position as sole leader of the PER in the years since Robert Gilchrist's death.

She had once stood by his side as he headed the organization, and in the chaos of the enormous 2114 defeat at the hands of the JRSF in New York, her credentials had been more than enough to convince most people to follow her.

Those who had not been convinced by her credentials had vanished so swiftly and utterly from the face of the Earth, that any remaining doubts were forcibly purged by their owners in the firm and undying interest of self preservation.

Finally, the woman could take the silence no longer, "Orders ma'am?"

Veritas glanced up;  Her gaze was inscrutable, and her calm tone revealed nothing of her internal mood, "In the end...  I think we can consider this a fairly major success.  The long-term benefits of this action will far outweigh any small publicity losses we incurred by failing to convert the highest level targets."

The woman was so relieved, at first, that she could not muster the faculties to move, or speak.  Merely to regain control of her breathing.

Veritas turned back to the holotank, using a burst of her magic to spin the complex projection of pipes and wires, "That will be all."

The words were delivered in such a calm and distracted monotone that it took the woman several seconds to process them, nod stiffly, and finally make good on her escape from the room, walking as swiftly as she dared.

Much about Veritas remained an enigma, but one thing everyone in the PER knew for sure from the unexplained disappearances, and tortured shrieks heard through sub-basement walls;  To cross her, or to fail her, was tantamount to signing a confession of treason.  

And a death warrant.





Hutch found Klarien and Taranis both practicing in the shooting range.  The cavernous space, which had been carved from the very soil beneath Fort Hamilton, provided miles of shooting distance at the longest segment of its range, and acres of training space that allowed for everything from small-scale live fire exercises to inter-squad football and cricket games.

Both dragons were standing on a grassy knoll, claws depressing into the synthetic green turf so far that they were leaving permanent gouges down to the cement substrata.  Each was sighting along their right foreleg, and periodically discharging live rounds from their gauntlet guns.

The General watched for several moments in silence, mentally keeping tabs on the two reptilians' scores.  Their accuracy put their Human counterparts to shame, even the ones who had the benefit of the latest digital imaging scopes and corrective barrel systems.  Nonetheless, their display of marksmanship was trite, at best, to Hutch.

He had worked with enough Gryphons to have become severely jaded to feats of accuracy from any other species.  Dragons, Ponies, and Diamond Dogs had their own special and dazzling unique advantages, and they all had a leg up over Humans in every single conceivable physical contest.  But none could approach the visual capacity, and thus gunplay excellence, of a Gryphon.

The General found the sheer destructive capacity of their weapons more interesting by far.  While strong by Human measures a Gryphon, or even a much heftier Diamond Dog, could not hope to carry a portable weapon of the sheer scope that Dragons considered to be a personal sidearm.

A Dragon could make a weapon 'man portable' that would have once been consigned to medium APCs and light battle tanks.  

Given the thickness of their scales, sensitivity of their Jacobson's organs and heat sensing pits, speed of thought, and the flexibility afforded to them by simply being a living creature, mounting an otherwise unmodified vehicle weapon to a Dragon had the potential to generate a jaw dropping increase in its battlefield effectiveness.

One light tank canon could easily do, in their claws, what a dozen heavy tanks would struggle to accomplish.

Hutch coughed politely, "Ahem.  I think practice time is over gents."

Klarien latched the safety of his railgun firmly into place, and turned to the General, "You have the fragment analysis?  Is it a definitive lead?"

Taranis squeezed off a final shot, blowing the head off a test dummy nearly a mile downrange without a scope, or spotter.  He spoke without turning, "He would not be here if it was entirely useless information."

Hutch nodded slowly, tapping his DaTab against one hand slowly, "The metallurgical analysis was fairly conclusive.  The bomb's casing and the shrapnel were fairly generic stuff; whoever built the device was careful to ensure there was no way to tie it back to them by conventional routes.  But thanks to a few of the more talented Unicorns in our midst, we've been able to separate the chemicals of the device's structure from the pavement, and the victims."

The General paused, and glanced between the Dragons.  Taranis turned and finally offered up his full attention.  Hutch raised an eyebrow, "All the chemicals.  Right down to the tiniest traces of minerals in the circuit board of the detonation driver.  Normally this kind of work is impossible, but magic can discriminate between atoms in ways that even the most precise electromagnets can't.  And that leads us to this."

Hutch raised the DaTab.  Displayed spinning on its surface was a circuit diagram.  Klarien cocked his head, "A computer chip?"

The General nodded.  The green Dragon raised an eyebrow scale, "Aaaand?"

Taranis rumbled deep in his chest, "A military grade computer chip."

The General nodded again, more slowly, plying the cobalt reptile with a curious glance, "Very astute.  Yes.  It is, in fact, a model of chip that was being produced by an electronics company for Earthgov munitions detonators.  They were outbid by another corporation and as per nondisclosure laws, were ordered to scrap the designs, cease production of all prototypes, and destroy their binned samples."

Klarien gazed down at the computer screen clutched in Hutch's hands, "And yet here one is.  In the possession of the HLF."

Hutch flipped the DaTab over and shoved it under one arm, beginning to pace slowly, "We've known for some time, based on their patterns of attack, that the HLF and PER are periodically gaining access to high level corporations to fund their work and provide a chain of logistics for their operations.  The very fact that the HLF has consistent access to military level hardware for major missions is proof enough in their case, and I don't have to remind either of you about the Gavin/Schummel mess and the PER."

The General swiveled abruptly to face the Dragons once more, "These chips?  They're a dangerous indicator that the HLF has penetrated a defense contractor.  Your next task is to get geared up and be ready for briefing in an hour.  We're going to squeeze these corporate weasels, and hard, until we find out for damn sure whether they have an unwitting leak, or are working off-books with the Front.  Follow the chips.  From the source, down to the bombmaker, then follow his contacts out to the whole web inside the HOB."

Klarien smacked one enormous claw into the other with a resounding 'CLACK' of scales, "And then we tear it down."

Hutch nodded once abruptly, "Exactly.  I'll see you both in one hour."  He turned to exit the firing range, then stopped, making an about face momentarily, "And...  Gentlemen?  I'd much appreciate it if you didn't kill anyone on the *first* day.  'Autonomy' doesn't mean the JRSF is entirely above political blowback, something I'd like to minimize for our sake.  And for the Bureaus'."





When Hutch reached his office, he found the impulse to flop into his desk chair completely irresistible.  His sleep schedule had finally become so fragmented that his circadian rhythms were fully desynchronized from any semblance of health or normalcy.

Ironically, the effect could not have come at a more inconvenient time.  The proximity of the bubble, and fair Equestrian weather, meant that the sun had amplified his body's otherwise suppressed desire to keep to a traditional eating and sleeping cycle.  Apparently such things were built into the very basis of Human genetics, and had not entirely evolved out in the post-Winnowing generations.

He glanced out the window at the oncoming bubble with his usual paradoxical mixture of fondness, and hatred, and rubbed his eyes.  As he laid back in his chair and tried to resist the temptation to close his eyes, he noticed a blinking 'message waiting' indicator on his desk's holo-interface.

He sighed, paused to work up energy, then reached forward and pressed the ethereal words hovering an inch above the surface of the desk.  A projected screen sprang into existence above the desk, automatically adjusting for the angle of his head.

After several moments of a generic 'Please wait.  Establishing live link...' message, the space was filled with the unexpected visage of Councilor Martins.  Her face was contorted in exhaustion and concern, and her hair was utterly disheveled.  In the background behind her, the General could just barely make out the lights of emergency vehicles.

He sat bolt upright, "Councilor!  What the---"

She held up a hand, "Is this connection fully secured?"

Hutch squinted in bleary confusion, "I'm sorry what?  Its a military encrypted..."

Martins shook her head adamantly, "*Fully* secured.  I don't want this transmission on the record."

The General paused, staring and trying to process her words.  Finally he sighed, and tapped several controls on his desk.  The connection image pixelated briefly, and 'hiccupped,' before returning to normal.

"Secured Janet."

The Councilor glanced over her shoulder, then leaned into her DaTab, "We were attacked."

Hutch's eyes bugged out, and he mimicked Martin's gesture, leaning in towards his screen, "What?"

Martins nodded, "A Potion bomb.  Planted inside our conference room within the secure London Earthgov complex."

The General stared, his expression continuing to spiral further into blatant indications of shock and worry, "That shouldn't be possible..."

The Councilor nodded, "It gets worse, if you can believe it."  She paused, as if evaluating whether to speak at all, before finally continuing, "The room's countermeasures were disabled.  From the inside."

Hutch sat back and began to rub his temple, "Shiiiiit."

Martins exhaled slowly, "I'm not sure who to trust at this point.  To smuggle such a device into this complex undetected, and disable countermeasures built into the very structure of the building...  That requires military clearance."

The General's head snapped up sharply, "Cripes Martins, don't you think I realize that?  I'm just not sure I can even begin to guess how they flipped someone at that level, and kept us from knowing about it, or found some other vulnerability"

The Councilor glared, "Regardless of how, why, or 'if,' the fact remains that this raises serious concerns for myself, my party, and our endeavor."  She paused and drummed her fingers on the hood of the vehicle she was seated on.  Judging by its white paint, it was likely an ambulance.  She continued, slowly, as if evaluating each word, "I think it is time to move up schedule.  Arrange those favors we discussed.  I can no longer, in good conscience, trust the government's military Police...  But the JRSF have always been straight shots."

When Hutch did not speak, she continued, speaking more quickly, "The endorsement of the JRSF would be good for our publicity, *and* yours.  We'd be guaranteed proper security and an impartial, untainted investigation.  This is exactly the type of situation your organization was formed to respond to."

Hutch raised a hand, "Save it Janet.  I don't need a lecture from you on my objective statement.  And I don't need convincing either.  I personally fail to see the point of it, but your project is something that a dedicated fraction of Humanity wants to sign onto.  The fact that someone is trying to infringe on that freedom is good enough reason for me to get involved, if nothing else.  And I do owe you."

Martins allowed the tiniest hint of a grin to pull at her lips.  Somehow, despite the hell she had been through, the subtle gloss on them had not deteriorated, or even smudged, "Yes.  You do owe me."

The General waggled a finger, "After this?  We are, as they used to say, 'square.' "

The Councilor sighed, "Agreed.  I know this is asking to add another huge stressor to your overloaded plate..."

Hutch snorted, "What else is new?  Stress is practically my job description.  I'm used to it."  He sat back once more, and stared out the window, his brow wrinkling as his gaze became pensive, "Still...  I'm worried that you've gotten me in over my head this time."
> Chapter 13
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Sixteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"You're sure you feel up to translation?"  Fyrenn looked down at the white Pegasus with concern.

IJ glowered.  

Despite the fact that she was holding a small block of ice, wrapped in a towel, to her forehead with one hoof, she still looked both menacing and frustrated. 

"Stop asking if I'm 'up to it' and just give me the sheets.  We're wasting enough time as it is."

Fyrenn shrugged, "Touché."  He reached into his pack and extracted the decoded sheets of paper gingerly, setting them in a stack on the table in front of IJ.  She promptly splayed them out into a row with her free hoof and leaned in closer.

Carradan peered over her shoulder expectantly, "Well?"

She pierced him with a stare midway between patronizing, and disbelieving, "You want to take two big steps back and let me work unmolested?  It's been a few years since I had to read Changeling, so I expect this will take a moment."

The salmon Pegasus slumped back into his seat.  Fyrenn sighed, relieved that IJ had not reacted more violently, and paused to take in his surroundings once more.

The Barracks of the Cloudsdale City Watch comprised the most defensively-minded structure he had seen in the Equestrian Nation.  The exterior wall was made entirely out of thunderheads, which roiled with a constant inner energy that guards could tap, and direct into devastating lightning strikes against any assaulting foe.

The internal structures were made of a form of reinforced cloud, characterized by a peculiar stippled pattern, and a mesmerizing grayish-blue color.  A permanent rainbow, which apparently had been Thaumatically tuned to boost ambient magic levels, adorned the crest of the tiered castle-like structure.

Inside, the building was reminiscent of traditional Pegasus architecture, but Fyrenn had spotted more than a few militaristic features as well, such as arrow holes in dividing walls, a distinct lack of stairs designed to impede non-flighted invaders, and alcoves for defenders to duck into should the opportunity present itself.

Skye, Varan, and Kephic had gone with the Captain of the Watch to an inner chamber to make a full report about the previous night's battle.  Fyrenn had initially worried that he would have to carry Skye throughout the entire city, but she had wordlessly conjured some form of temporary cloudwalking spell when they initially landed.  Her propensity for useful and unconventional spells never ceased to impress.

Since the end of the tussle with the Drones, the Unicorn had exchanged only monosyllables with IJ, and that state of affairs suited Fyrenn just fine.  He had no desire to be present when the inevitable fight finally broke out.

After several moments of silence, made more comfortable than awkward by pure exhaustion, IJ spoke, "You were right;  It is time sensitive information.  And I expect that any chance of it being useful to you on its own has passed.  It's a series of attack instructions.  They probably had them adjusted within hours of realizing these copies had been stolen.  You said you found these on a Diamond Dog train?"

Fyrenn nodded slowly, "We think the clan that runs a spur of the northern railway are acting as couriers.  We also found a small herd of Ponies...  Locked away in cages."

IJ rifled through the missives on the tablet absently, seemingly unperturbed by the revelation, "A Hive has to keep its population fed.  These days, thanks to you Gryphons, that's harder than it's ever been.  The Ponies were probably being delivered for extra payment.  Judging by what these documents say, the attack orders focus on causing fear and confusion.  Transferring 'acquired commodities' is merely a bonus."

Carradan shuddered.  Fyrenn's face fell;  A combination of frustration, melancholy, and anger twisting his beak and ears downwards as he spoke.

"We had thought, at one point, that the PER might have been responsible for all this...  I'll admit that the Changelings being the hidden hoof makes a certain sort of sense...  But why now?  Why run a campaign of distraction and terror on Equestrian and Gryphon settlements now?  In preparation for a larger attack?"

IJ nodded, "Most likely.  When I was last part of the Hive, the predominant consensus was that we needed to adapt our fighting style as a result of our famine, overpopulation, and your growing propensity for meddling with our affairs.  It wouldn't surprise me to learn that we've changed over to asymmetrical warfare based on sowing fear and confusion."

Stan grumbled, "How comforting."

Fyrenn sighed, and sat back on his haunches, "So there's nothing else new to be learned from these?"

IJ raised an eyebrow, "Did I say that?"

The red Gryphon sat up, ears perking attentively.  The former Changeling inclined her head, "There is nothing more to be gained from the obvious contents of the messages.  But for a Changeling, there is a wealth of buried information."

Carradan leaned forward once more, infringing on IJ's bubble of personal space and prompting her to pierce him with another icy glare.  The reporter-turned-adventurer didn't seem to care, "Soooo?  These are gonna be worth it after all?!"

IJ shifted slightly to gain more space, shoving her icepack into Carradan's hooves, before applying both of her own to the sheets, spreading them out until they were all individually visible. 

She glanced up at Fyrenn, "The changeling 'Hive' often refers to the whole of us, just as the 'Kingdoms' refer to all of you.  It also refers to the joined Hive mind.  But for the sake of organization, there are divisions and a hierarchy within *The* Hive.  Geographically and logistically, a specific settlement of Changelings can be referred to as *a* Hive."

Carradan cocked his head slightly, "Huh..."  He dropped the icepack, failing to even take notice as it passed through the floor and vanished to parts unknown.  He instead buried his muzzle in his saddlebags, finally emerging triumphantly with a notepad and quill, "This is good stuff!  Next time we're Earthside I can probably get some kinda exclusive publishing deal!"

IJ and Fyrenn both stared on in a mixture of disdain, confusion, and mild annoyance.  Carradan clutched the quill firmly in his muzzle, waving a hoof and speaking around the feathery material, "Well?  Go on!"

IJ huffed, and returned her gaze to the paper, "As I was saying;  Every individual Hive has its own idiosyncrasies, particularly the old ones.  Organizationally, each Hive has its own Queen and a command structure that flows down from her.  All Hive Queens in turn report to the Over-Queen.  *The* Queen.  Including her own Hive, which is usually the largest in the empire.  Each Hive has, among other things, a unique..."

The Pegasus tilted her head and paused, trying to find the words to frame the concept, "A unique... 'Signature.'  In its writing, its thoughts... The signature even gets impressed, over time, onto the Hive's Drones, making it easy to identify their origin the instant you examine their minds."

Fyrenn's visage brightened, "So you can tell us which Hive these came from?"

IJ tapped one hoof against the table.  A small part of Fyrenn's brain idly wondered how the furniture kept from falling through the floor, as she spoke, "Yes.  I can.  These missives originate from the Razor Spires Hive."

Carradan's eyes widened, "You can recognize this 'signature' with that much certainty?"

IJ raised an eyebrow, "It was almost as easy to recognize as the signature on the Drones last night.  That really surprises you?  It was my old Hive.  I would be quite remiss if I couldn't recognize the signature I grew up with."

Fyrenn glared, "You didn't think to mention this earlier?"

"Was it that important?"  The white Pegasus tossed her mane slightly, blowing a few stray locks of blue hair out of her eyes.

The Gryphon pinched the bridge of his beak in-between thumb and index talons, "IJ... *everything* is important at this stage.  Every single tiny detail.  Is there anything else that you've been sitting on that might conceivably be important?  Anything at all?"

She shrugged, "The letters make allusion to a large attack happening in a few days' time.  But we already knew that."

Fyrenn groaned.  The sound gradually turned to an angry, frustrated hiss, "No.  We knew a major attack was *imminent.*  Now you're telling me we know that it's going to be within a week?"

IJ nodded, "Less than that."

Carradan winced, "How major?"

The ex-Changeling raised both eyebrows, "Let me put it in perspective for your small herbivorous brain.  The Over-Queen expects enemy casualties to be, and I quote, 'innumerable millions.' "

Fyrenn stiffened, "This changes things.  Do you think they will be mobilizing the Hives?"

IJ glowered, "For an assault of such a scale?  Are you truly asking such a stupidly obvious question?"

The Gryphon was too busy getting a grasp on the repercussions of her words to take offense.  He murmured to himself, "We have to dispatch messages immediately..."

"Messages?" Kephic's voice came from across the chamber.  Fyrenn glanced up to see that he, Varan, Skye, and the Captain of the Watch had returned.

He nodded as his siblings approached, "IJ translated the sheafs.  The news is not good.  The Changelings appear to be planning a massive all-out assault within half a week.  These initial attacks are a distraction tactic to pull attention and troops away from what will become the main front."

Varan hummed softly, "That is indeed troubling.  We must dispatch messengers at once, both to Canterlot, and to our own Capital."  With his characteristic bluntness, he turned and made his way out of the room without further prelude.

Fyrenn turned to Kephic, and inhaled slowly, "Given what she's told me?  I think we have to pursue this.  Part of her final mission was to acquire samples of our DNA... 'lifecode,' to return to the Hive for dissemination.  It can't possibly be coincidence that Drones from her old Hive show up to kidnap her on the eve of a major assault, ostensibly coordinated from the same Hive."

Kephic inclined his head, "Far too much to be coincidental.  I agree.  I expect Varan will too.  We're probably the closest Warriors.  It falls to us to scout, and make an early report if possible."

Fyrenn sighed, "Every little bit of pre-battle information helps."

Carradan shuddered, "Venturing into Hive territory...  Not the week's activity I'd been planning on when I got up this morning."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, turning his head to treat the Pegasus to wry glance, "You didn't get up this morning.  We didn't get any sleep last night at all."

Stan groaned, "Don't *remind* me.  I'm runnin' on fumes here...  And I could use some food..."

Kephic nodded, "As pressing as time is, I expect we will all wish to take several hours to sleep and eat."

Skye raised a hoof, "Um.. excuse me?  Helooo?  Resident Unicorn reporting;  I'm not exactly equipped for a plunge into the heart of the swarm here.  Neither is miss-priss over there."

IJ grunted, "Vulgarities and stupidities notwithstanding;  We are both in need of armor if you are planning to take us with you."

Fyrenn glanced between the glowering females, "Well I suppose you have a choice Skye.  No one is making you come.  IJ?  We need your expertise.  And I don't expect you're keen to pass up the chance to follow up on last night's abduction attempt."

The ex-Drone's expression spoke for itself, in the affirmative.  Skye huffed, "You seriously think I'd back out of this now?  Besides, if I don't come along she's liable to throttle you all in your sleep."

Carradan interjected before the backbiting could continue, "Ahhh...  Just a moment...  How come no one asked me what *I* want?"

Kephic snorted, "Because even though you'd never admit it aloud, you wouldn't turn down the chance at a healthy dose of peril.  Especially not one that is bound to lead to a good story."

The salmon Pegasus glared good-naturedly, mumbling under his breath.  Fyrenn thought he detected a hint of a suppressed grin pulling at his muzzle.

The red Gryphon turned to the Captain of the Guard, who had stood stone-faced during the entire exchange, "I hate to impose.  But do you think you could lend us two suits of armor?"

The Captain huffed.  He was a brawny male Pegasus, his stature all the more impressive, for a Pony, with the added effect of his helmet crest.

"The armor of the Cloudsdale City Watch is a uniform unto itself.  The design is as old as the first Pegasus tribes.  We do not hand it idly over to those who are...  Unqualified."

IJ pierced the stallion with a killing glare, and Skye snorted, pawing at the cloud beneath her.  Before either enraged Pony could speak, Kephic interjected quickly.

"They are about to accompany us on an extremely dangerous mission deep into enemy territory, on behalf of both your kind and ours.  We are pressed sorely for time.  Its not as if we can simply fly all the way to Canterlot once more, or wait for a blacksmith to turn out new sets of gear.  They need protection, and you have it."

The stallion glared wordlessly for several moments, before rolling his eyes, "I see I am left with no choice."

Fyrenn sighed, "Glad you see it that way."

As IJ and Skye made their way across the room, the latter continued to glare at the Captain, "Yeah...  For your sake.  Lead on Captain tight-britches."

As the Stallion silently escorted the two mares through a side door into the courtyard, Kephic inhaled slowly, "I think it's probably---"

Fyrenn clapped him between the shoulder blades, "Not it." "

Kephic raised an eyebrow, "...Best that one of us go with them...  What is 'not it'?"

Carradan chuckled, "It means he called dibs."

"Dibs?"

Fyrenn laughed, "It means *you* get to go play peacekeeper while I sit here and relax."

Kephic glowered, "Not fair."

The red Gryphon snorted as he flopped down onto a particularly puffy segment of cloud, and rested his head on his crossed forelegs, "Your point?  Have fun dear brother.  I'll say a prayer for your safety."

As the speckled Gryphon loped away to catch up with his charges, Fyrenn whistled, "I wouldn't want to be him.  Those two Ponies are like a brick of C4 on a short fuse."

Carradan chuckled wryly, "You wanna know what scares me more than anything?  What if they end up being friends before all this is through?  I'm scared outa my fetlocks they'll be callin' each other 'sis' by the end of this week."

Fyrenn opened one eye lazily, "Maybe so...  But I'll just bet that either way, they're going to call each other a good few other, much nastier things, first."

Carradan nodded, "Yeah..."  He paused thoughtfully, before nudging one of Fyrenn's wings with a hoof, "So which of em' do you think I have a better shot with?"

The red Gryphon raised his head, and allowed his expression to speak for itself.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 15th, Gregorian Calendar

Kaliss Manufacturing provided nearly a third of the computer hardware in use by the Earthgov military.  The company's primary chip factory, stationed in an area of New York once known as Saugerties, sprawled over nearly thirty hectares of land.

Most of the facility was run by machines.; Automated assembly lines controlled by two hundred AI, and their subsidiary interface routines.  In the early 2100's the company had begun to put skilled laborers back onto the production lines, however, to further augment production speed as the need for computing devices continued to rise exponentially and unabated.

Klarien stared down at the extra-large DaTab strapped to his left foreleg.  According to contract records, the Saugerties facility had produced the only batch of prototype chips that matched the metallurgical analysis of the bomb fragments.

The green Dragon glanced over to his 'partner.'  Taranis seemed busy examining the façade of the central warehouse structure.  Klarien wasn't sure how he felt about being paired with the cobalt Dragon.  He knew for sure how he felt about the fact that Taranis was in charge.  

'Displeased' barely covered it.

"So...  Are we going in?"  Klarien glanced around the parking lot as he waited for a response.  The scene struck him as almost comical.  Two Dragons standing calmly in the middle of the pavement, surrounded by cars, staring up at a warehouse.

Taranis nodded, "Stay silent.  I will speak, you will observe."  

As the pair began to lumber towards the facility's main entrance, Klarien glowered, "Is that wise?  You don't even sound like a Convert.  You sound like a native...  Or someone who has been a Convert for a long while."

The blue Dragon nodded a second time, "And that is to our advantage.  Aside from that, I have professional experience in questioning techniques."

After a short moment of silence, Klarien indulged his curiosity, "So why *do* you talk that way?  You sound almost like a native...  But you haven't been a convert that long...  Right?  None of us have been."

Taranis raised an eyebrow scale, "Did you get this erroneous information from a file?  Or did you simply assume facts not in evidence?"

The green Dragon knit his brow, "So...  You've been a convert for...?"

"Some time.  Long enough to come to appreciate the Draconic way of speech and thought."

The conversation came to an abrupt end as they arrived at the factory's doors.  The aperture was not ideally suited to a Dragon, but was still large enough to admit the pair, one after the other.

While the interior space had not been designed with giant reptiles in mind, it was cavernous enough that it felt quite roomy, even to Taranis.  The front lobby-like portion of the building was partitioned off from the factory floors by an enormous floor-to-ceiling plexiglass window, reinforced with crisscrossing alloy beams.

The ceiling was also transparent, and held up by a similar girder structure that had an almost geodesic pattern.

The Dragons' entry instantly garnered the full attention of every person in the lobby;  The receptionist, a janitor, and several security guards.

The latter moved to place their hands on their side-arms, before quickly thinking better of the idea.  It dawned on them almost immediately that their cheap civilian chemical-reaction driven pistol rounds had no chance of penetrating Draconic scales, but every certainty of provoking the owners of those scales.

Taranis stared down at the receptionist.  The young man was gawking, finger paused in mid-swipe over a DaTab.

"Greetings.  We are looking for the administrator of this facility."

The receptionist stuttered, "Aaah...  Umm...  Well..."

The blue Dragon glowered, "Now.  If you please."

Keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the Dragons' enormous claws, the receptionist reached across his desk and tapped a small holo-control, "Mr. Lansing;  You're needed urgently in the lobby."

After several moments of intensely awkward silence, during which both the receptionist and the security guards shuffled frequently, a door opened on the right side of the chamber.

Mr. Lansing was tall, gray haired, but still spry for a man of his apparent age.  His neat gray suit, and the small golden pin on the collar, shaped like the Kaliss company logo, identified him as the plant supervisor.

To his credit, he took the surprise of seeing two Dragons in his lobby almost entirely in stride, only hesitating slightly as he made his way across the polished floor, shoes clicking in perfect time.

"Good morning.  What can I do for you gentlemen?"  He managed a professional tone, and a neutral expression;  A fact for which Taranis mentally gave him credit.

"We're here on behalf of the JRSF.  I think it would be better if we spoke in private."





Lansing's office was, thankfully, on the same floor as the lobby.  Klarien had been eyeing the elevator nervously, wondering how the reptilian soldiers would fit within the small carriages if they needed to visit another level.

The chamber overlooked part of the factory floor, in a manner similar to the lobby, by means of an enormous floor-to-ceiling plexiglass window.  Klarien stared for several moments in fascination.  The factory was a stunning display of well programmed robotic choreography.

Hundreds of thousands of armatures picked, soldered, and snapped away at billions of computer chips as they passed by on an ever-advancing labyrinth of conveyor belts.  It was beautiful, in its own peculiarly mesmerizing way.

Lansing's voice swiftly put an end to the green Dragon's mental wanderings. 

"If the JRSF saw fit to send two of you here, then I don't expect you have good news."

Taranis shook his head.  The gesture nearly laid waste to the supervisor's desk.  Had his office not been unusually large, the two Dragons would not have even been able to squeeze into the space.  Maneuvering room was at a premium.

"Are your inventories well controlled?"

Lansing raised an eyebrow, "Every single thing that happens in this factory is monitored, twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.  All items are given a unique RFID plate, and corresponding serial number, at time of manufacture.  They are then tracked, without fail, from time of manufacture to time of shipment arrival."  He paused and leaned forward, his chair squeaking slightly, "What, exactly, is this all about?"

Taranis tapped one claw on Lansing's desk.  The chitin produced a slow reverberating rhythm on the brushed steel slab. 

"Is there any way you could conceive of for an employee to smuggle goods out of the factory?  Specifically, goods slated for destruction due to faulty behavior?  Or for other similar reasons?"

The supervisor appeared both genuinely baffled, and deeply upset, "No!  Of course not!  We're very careful with all defective, or sensitive materials!  Are you going to ask a more specific question or not?!  Do you suspect we have some sort of leak?!"

Taranis allowed the silence to stretch of for almost five seconds while he evaluated Lansing with a cold, calculating gaze.  He spoke again without shifting his ocular focus in the slightest. 

"We have evidence that suggests prototype chips designed for a military contract bid, and produced at this factory, were sold to the Human Liberation Front."

Lansing stared in open mouthed shock.  Both Dragons could easily taste his fear and confusion, as his body ejected floods of indicative hormones into the air.  Chemicals that were easily sampled by their Jacobson's organs.

It was child's play for them to reach the same conclusion, silently and simultaneously.  Lansing was not complicit in the theft.

Before the supervisor could speak, Taranis hummed in concern, "Clearly you were not aware of the surreptitious activities taking place at your factory.  We'll need access to all of your employee records, as well as any information you maintain on employee movement;  Security lock timestamps and such."

Lansing sat back and threw up his hands, "Wha...?!  I don't...  You're just going to...?!"

Klarien grunted, unable to resist the impulse to speak, "Trust you at your word?  We can smell your concern and confusion.  It's legitimate.  Pungent too.  You should consider a better brand of deodorant."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Sixteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Luna stared in confusion.  The sight before her was baffling.  She had rounded the corner of the main hall, to find that the throne room, perhaps the most familiar space to her in all of Canterlot Castle, was missing.

In its place was a heap of rubble covered in a swarm of work-Ponies operating a tread-crane, and frenetically wielding masonry tools in a haze of marble dust.

The Lunar Monarch stood dumbfounded, muzzle agape, until a worker passed close enough for her to reach out with a hoof and stop him, "Pardon me citizen.  What hath befallen the throne room?!"  In one of her more common symptoms of distress, Luna found herself unable to avoid slipping into Old High Royal Canterlot speech patterns.

The worker tilted his head in confusion, "Where have *you* been for the last month?  We're finishing repairs on the battle damage."

Luna's eyes widened abruptly, "Battle damage?!"

The stallion nodded, "Of course.  Actually...  We need your opinion on something.  We just finished the atrium, and we wanted to get your approval on a new decorative feature."

Before Luna could press the mason for more information, he trotted nonchalantly back down the hallway.  Baffled, the monarch followed him.  The stallion preceded her through a set of familiar double doors.  Luna followed, unable to suppress her curiosity long enough to fire off any more queries.

As she passed through the entryway, the sight that filled her eyes chilled the blood in her veins.  She felt as if her heart had been instantly encased in a thick layer of ice, and she had to bite her lip to resist the impulse to scream.

The palace atrium, a familiar and comforting space that she knew and loved, had been transformed into a grotesque display by the addition of a single object.

The white monument, of sorts, was enshrined on a vast marble pedestal and supported by cleverly hidden wires.  Much like a museum exhibit.  It shone with the transfixing glitter of burnished gold, which only served to heighten the macabre of the sight.  The gold, like the room itself, and the monument, were all too familiar.

Luna inhaled slowly, a tear forming in the corner of one eye as the reality of the sight finally sunk in.  Before her, decked out in the royal regalia of the Solar Monarch, stood the bleached skeleton of an Alicorn.  A familiar Alicorn.  Her beloved sister.

Before Luna could bring herself to move, or speak, a deafening voice seemed to fill the chamber.  The dulcet, yet ominous timbre was not only familiar, but lacked an echo.  The Lunar Princess realized with a violent start that it was not so much filling the atrium, as her mind.

"Look long and well upon our greatest triumph."

Luna collapsed to the floor, hooves tangled in the throes of agony, as the voice was abruptly joined by a wracking pain in her skull.  As the agonizing pangs receded, she gazed up at the monument once more, and noted the presence of six glittering gems in the base of the pedestal.

She inhaled sharply, "No..."

The voice returned to her mind once more; soft rather than deafening, as if its owner were speaking directly into her ear in an intimate whisper, "Now you see the folly of your stratagems.  *You* did this.  You made this possible.  I suppose..."

The final two words abruptly acquired direction, and echo, seeming to instantly transition from the reaches of Luna's mind, to a point-source above her.

She slowly raised her head, struggling once more to hold back tears.  She beheld a chillingly familiar sight.  The amethyst hued Unicorn from the darkest moments of her recent slumbers.

The apparition stood on the marble slab, beside the bones of Celestia, and smirked proudly.  She bent her head to lock eyes with Luna, and finished her thought, "I suppose I should...  Thank you.  We're so grateful for your failure."





"Sister?  Sister...  Were you having nightmares again?"  It took Luna a full half of a minute to shake off the bonds of sleep, and process the words.  When she finally managed the feat, she raised her head from her desk, where it had fallen when she dozed off.

Celestia stood in the entryway to her office, looking down on her with a mixture of sadness and concern.  Luna stood, and hung her head, "I am sorry sister.  I'm afraid I slept, and lost track of time.  I am late for our lunch aren't I?"'

Celestia nodded slowly, "Luna...  It nears sundown."

A long moment of awkward silence passed, punctuated only by the mercifully comforting sound of Canterlot's evening hubbub, and the soothing trill of songbirds in the Palace gardens below the room's vast open window.

At last, Celestia brought an end to the moment by simply stepping forward, and quietly embracing her younger sibling.  Luna did not resist the unusually 'undignified' display of affection as she might have normally, but instead returned the gesture.

When the sisters separated, Celestia noted that Luna's eyes were moist with tears.  She sighed, "Explain to me what is troubling you.  Starting from the beginning.  If you are willing."

Luna nodded slowly, and exhaled, "I suppose it is time you knew.  I think it concerns you, and that I need the boon of your advice, particularly since you will be departing shortly."

Celestia moved to take up a comfortable position on one of the study's couches, and patiently waited for Luna to follow suit.  Once they were seated, and a guard had been summoned to fetch tea, the Solar Monarch spoke once more, "Tell me all that is on your mind."

Luna stared out the window, towards the afternoon sun, "I have not been sleeping well of late..."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Sixteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"Its not exactly Royal Guard armor..."  Kephic tilted his head and thrummed a note of interest and critique deep in his throat.

Varan finished the thought, "I think, however, that it will be as serviceable as can be hoped for at short notice."

Skye glanced up at the plume of her helmet, crossing her eyes to try and see it in clear focus, "Don't let 'his eminence,' Captain Tightpants, hear you say that.  He'll probably flip his lid."

IJ raised an eyebrow as she yanked a final cinch on her chest-plate tight with her muzzle, "Are you always given to such dramatic nomenclature and metaphors?"

Carradan whistled a low note, "Well...  You two do *look* pretty dramatic.  And dashing...  And..."

The two female Ponies pierced the salmon Pegasus with a glare that Fyrenn guessed could have melted a solid block of aluminum into a whimpering puddle.  Internally, however, the Gryphon had to admit;  Stan was right.  The pair cut dashing figures in their new gear.

Pegasus armor was weaker than standard Royal Guard armor.  It was produced entirely in Cloudsdale, with exclusively Pony manufacturing processes and materials.  As such it lacked the durability and impact resistance of alloy, though the lighter design overall afforded some extra flexibility.  It was effectively nothing more than artistically fashioned simple steel plates and leather.

Despite its comparatively weaker construction, Fyrenn still admired the gear.  It had been burnished and painted a shade of onyx black.  Intricate silver filigree adorned the two primary components;  A segmented and plated guard for the back and chest, and a half-helm with a tall, dark plume.

Both pieces of armor were trimmed in gold leaf, and the helmet's plume appeared to be genuine Pony hair, dyed a deep and glittering shade of black.

On the whole the effect was elegant, intimidating, and even militaristic.  Fyrenn was both pleased, and surprised, to see a Pony-crafted object elicit such feelings.  He made a mental promise to himself to learn more about Pegasus history once he had breathing room.

At last, Varan broke the awkward, albeit slightly comedic, silence, "It is approaching sundown.  We should depart before we lose any more time."

Stan sighed morosely, "Ah well.  There's always tomorrow."

Carradan doubled over as IJ delivered a swift, sharp blow to his chest with one wing.  

Skye giggled, "Good shot."

As Fyrenn passed Stan on his way to the corner to pick up his own pack, he patted the wheezing Pegasus on the back softly, "I warned you buddy.  Stay away from the stove if you don't want to be burned."

Kephic snorted, "I'd advise he stay away from anything female entirely."

Varan shrugged, and shifted his wings to make room for his own pack beside his mace and bow, "I think the attempt would kill him."

Fyrenn inclined his head as he spread his wings, "Not if our dear sisters kill him first."

Carradan smiled dreamily, "Given the choice?  I'll take death-by-ex any day."

Kephic chuckled as he opened the door, "Which one is the lucky mare then?"

The salmon Pegasus cocked his head and squinted, "You know what?  I haven't deci---YEEEOWCH!"

The Gryphons, Varan included, could not resist a chuckle at Stan's expense, as Skye whistled innocently across the room, and the sharp arrow tip that she had jabbed into Carradan's rear fell to the floor.  The magical aura around her horn dissipated instantly, and she grinned slyly, "Be careful what you wish for."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, "If I'm going to keep carrying you?  I'm laying a ground rule right now;  No kicking, stabbing, punching, screeching, scratching...  Or any other horrible things you can think of."

Skye rolled her eyes skyward, "If you keep him away from me, you've got nothing to worry about."

Fyrenn mumbled as he bent to lift Skye onto his back, "That's what bothers me.  I'm not sure *God* could keep Stan away."

IJ glowered as she snapped her wings open, "At this point?  I want to point out that you need me to guide you to the Hive.  If you, or your god, do not succeed at keeping him away from *me?*  I will slit him end to end in his sleep."

Kephic raised a claw, as the group began to leap off the edge of Cloudsdale, one by one, "New rule.  The three Ponies must be separated from each other by at least one of us every night."

Varan sighed, "I do not look forward to shouldering the watch rotations amongst the three of us."

Fyrenn became airborne, turning in a gradual bank for Skye's sake, until he was pointed a few degrees shy of the setting sun.  He smiled wryly, "It's better than the alternatives.  Believe me."
> Chapter 14
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 16th, Gregorian Calendar

The cigarette fizzled weakly as it hit the rain-soaked tarmac.  Its owner casually flattened the paper wrapping with a polished heel.  Mr. Utah turned to the dutiful, silent, suited aide standing at the stairway of his private aircraft, "The last of it has been loaded?"

The man nodded curtly, "The final batch of supplies and troops is confirmed;  All units and gear fully accounted for."

Mr. Utah grunted acknowledgement deep in his throat, pausing to glance across the small aerodrome at an unmarked CAA-7 cargo jet, whose engines had just begun to spin up, filling the drizzle-laden air with palpable vibrations and an ear-splitting whine.

The airport had once been a tiny floatplane base, but a post-Winnowing influx of population into the nearby city had grown it into a fairly large annex.  The field lacked live controllers;  It was run primarily by a computerized control and LADAR tower at the center of the complex.

Radiating out from the tall, thin, windowless, hard-edged structure was a spiderweb of taxiways and holding tarmacs.  The duracrete paths connected on one side to a runway just barely long enough to handle military cargo jets, and on the other to a row of mostly-empty hangars, and spaces for VTOLs to land.

The entire affair was encircled by a tall electrified fence, with a single entry and exit point governed by an automated RFID-driven access gate.  The only other structures for thousands of yards were similarly fenced miniature fusion electric generators, and small synthetic jet fuel reserve tanks, for refueling purposes.

Most of the time the field was silent, but occasionally a major Earthgov naval operation would necessitate a weekend of high-traffic military-restricted usage.  At all other times, the field was open to general aviation, small commuter VTOLs, and commercial cargo aircraft.

It had served the HLF well.  A strategic bribe during its construction had allowed the insertion of a permanent back door into the control tower's relatively unsophisticated and aging AI.  There had never been any permanent record of the Front's activities at the airfield.  

And there never would be.

Mr. Utah swept his gaze towards the shimmering lights of the city in the distance.  The luminescence of a billion twinkling light sources was blurred and diffused by the precipitation into a lurid unfocused bokeh of golds and blues.

"Mid and low level assets?"

His aide stiffened, "As per protocol;  No actionable information has been sent to anyone classified as a level five asset or below." 

HLF operational security guidelines dictated that during a pullout, 'low level' members be kept in the dark to prevent information leaks.  The Front was split into two fundamental groups;  The founding and controlling parties, who had access to major corporations, military assets, and vast sums of money, and the 'followers.'

The slang term was often used within the Cabinet to brand those who were not official HLF members, but who expressed anti-Pony sentiment and marched to the same fascist agendas.  Just as the KKK of old had funded and manipulated chanting drunken masses of morons to do their bidding, so too the HLF considered 'followers' to be useful.  Within certain bounds.

Like the rest of the Cabinet, however, Mr. Utah had no compunctions, whether moral or logistical, about leaving followers to take the fall during an operation.  That was part and parcel of their point and purpose.

He turned to his personal craft.  The Lockheed/Boeing Skyrunner was one of the fastest business class jets available.  The HLF made several available to the Cabinet;  Some possessed legitimate markings, and were owned and operated under shell corporations.  Others, like the one on the tarmac before Mr. Utah, possessed no official records or footprint of any kind.

Not even so much as a safety inspection card, or a serial number on tertiary components.  The Skyrunner was painted jet black, with no other markings of any sort.

Mr. Utah spent a final moment in contemplation, checking to ensure that nothing had been forgotten.  He then strode up the airstair into the plane's cabin.  He nodded to the beige-camouflage guard standing beside the cockpit, his face inscrutable behind a reflective silvery faceplate, "Depart."

As Mr. Utah took a seat in the well-appointed main cabin, the guard rapped twice on the cockpit door, reaching out to fold the door and airstair closed as the aide scrambled inside.

The Skyrunner's engines quickly spun up, and the craft began taxiing to the runway.  Ahead, the last of eight CAA-7's that had departed during the pullout cycle throttled up and tore a conical hole through the rain, winging its way swiftly off towards a Southern California air base.

As the Skyrunner cut a hard turn onto the runway-proper, jolting over a seam in the pavement as it went, Mr. Utah spared a farewell glance for the rain-soaked city.

Without fanfare, ado, or permission, the unmarked unnamed 'non-existent' jet screeched away into the damp night.  The Skyrunner left only a contrail, and a gust of air behind on the CXH tarmac, its engines propelling a cascade of water across the aerodrome's name, stenciled into the runway in faded white paint.

'Vancouver Harbour Water Airport.'





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Seventeenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn surveyed the land ahead, lazily sweeping his gaze across the western horizon.  He had already seen the terrain from above.  What intrigued him was the peculiar patterns of golden and orange sunlight through the groves of nearby pine trees.

The experience of a sunset, he had found, was vastly different depending on whether one observed it from the air or the ground.  Both had their own sublime charm, and unique aesthetic.  His favorite way to see a sunset, since his Conversion, had always been to skim just above a layer of fluffy white cloud and to watch the sun set behind it.  

The display of colors, shapes, and shadows that the fiery orb brought out in the formations of condensed moisture were achingly beautiful.

Fyrenn stretched lazily, savoring the moment of peace.  The group had opted for a short break to prepare a meal, and then an extended flight before sleeping the second half of the night.

As his siblings worked on the Gryphons' meal, Carradan and Skye nibbled at their own herbivorous provisions.  Kephic and Varan insisted that Fyrenn take the time to rest, given that he was carrying extra weight.  Though the red Gryphon had protested vocally, he had been forcibly overridden in the end.

The soft thump of hooves against the grass drew his attention abruptly, and Fyrenn glanced to his left to see IJ perched in repose on a large rock, devouring a haycake of her own.  He was suddenly gripped with an insatiable wave of curiosity, "Was it hard to adjust to eating?  I assume Changelings don't eat, in the traditional sense."

IJ shook her head, "We can, but we get very little nutrition from it if we're not also consuming a healthy amount of love.  Much the same way you can benefit from non-meat foods, as long as you consume enough flesh to stay healthy.  So no.  Not as hard as you'd think."

Fyrenn was pleasantly surprised that his query hadn't been met with an overabundance of frustration, anger, or snark.  He decided to press his opportunity, and turned to face IJ, "What *is* growing up in the Hive like?"

She glowered, "Are you asking because you care about knowing for the sake of understanding us?  Or for the sake of gaining a tactical edge?  Or do you just want to disparage my upbringing?"

The Gryphon shrugged, hoping nonchalance would diffuse the situation and keep the Pegasus talking, "Call it both of the former, and none of the latter."

At first, IJ looked as if she might end the conversation there.  Her scowl deepened and she kicked the last crumbs of her haycake away into the bushes vindictively.  She stood as if to leave, but instead strode calmly over to a shadier position, and curled up in the grass.

After an awkward pause, which Fyrenn opted to wait out, she began to speak again.  Her ears pulled back in a reflexively sign of anxiety, "Try to imagine being constantly nourished, energized, cared for, and watched over.  Every single second of your adolescent life.  You have access to the knowledge of an entire civilization, and you're never more than a thought away from your protectors."

Fyrenn slumped into a position of repose, and rested his head on crossed forelegs, facing IJ, "Sounds wonderful.  I lost my parents early on.  I had my grandmother, and she was wonderful...  But I had to get used to the world and learn its lessons solely in ye olde school of hard knocks."

IJ glanced away, "I envy you."

Fyrenn's eyes widened, and his ears shot up to a confused and curious vertical position.  He tensed, and cocked his head, 

The Pegasus fixed him with an unflinching gaze.  Her stormy blue eyes filled to bursting with roiling clouds of anger and pain, "There are advantages to growing up in the Hive.  But they're *not* worth it.  Not in its current state."

The Gryphon's confusion did not abate, as evidenced by the continued expression of thoughtfulness that twisted his beak downwards in introspection.  IJ huffed, and resigned herself to explaining, "You *got* to grow up.  You think you had it hard?  At least the...  'Hard knocks' let you know that you were alive.  That you were unique.  You had an identity."

She paused and looked away once more.  A momentary expression, somewhere between a wince and a small sob, indicated that she was steeling herself to continue.  As quickly as it had arrived, the moment of near-vulnerability vanished.

When IJ turned her gaze back to Fyrenn her muzzle, and tone, were as impassive as ever, "The Hive works both ways.  A drone can access the information stored there...  But also the minds of every other Drone.  And every other Drone can access theirs."

Fyrenn squinted in a mixture of continued confusion, concern, and mild distaste, "Can't you close off parts of your mind?  Get some privacy?"

IJ shook her head slowly, "You 'can,' but it is forbidden.  On pain of death.  It has been for millennia.  Supposedly this 'protects us from strife and dissent.'  But really?  It's there to make sure that you grow up serving the Queen without question or reservation.  Its always there...  The hum.  Every Drone is always inside every other Drone's mind.  The individual?  The individual doesn't exist when you're inside the network.  Not anymore."

Fyrenn physically shuddered in revulsion, ears flattening and tail swishing with anxiety.  He glowered contemplatively, "So to grow up with that...?"

The white Pegasus snorted, "You don't grow up.  You're spawned...  And that's it.  No name, no unique form, no personality, no sense of self, and nothing special to separate you from the millions of others *exactly* like you.  The Hive is there from the moment your brain forms.  Even before you're fully ready to spawn.  It takes hours, at most, to learn the concepts of words, and ideas, and fuzzy logic...  And it takes only seconds for the will of the swarm to impress itself on every fiber of your being.  You?  You got to shape an identity for yourself.  And your kind?  you're all so... *Sure.*  So sure of what, and who you are..."

The red Gryphon winced, "I'm sorry.  And if it makes any difference;  We're always sure what, but not necessarily who we are, or where we're going."

IJ hissed, "What does that even *mean*?!  How can you be sorry?!  You're never going to understand, and you're never going to care.  I'm a Changeling.  That is part of my identity, no matter what your high and mighty friend sun Princess did.  The only part that has ever mattered.  The only part that ever will."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, fixing IJ with a glare of his own.  His tone hardened to match his gaze, "You're right.  I'm never going to completely understand what it is to be you, or to be Changeling.  But I do care, and don't you ever dare to presume differently.  I saved your life!  I didn't do that because it suited some agenda.  I did it because I care about what happens to you!  Because I want you to have a chance to figure out what it means to *be* you!"

He took a deep breath to avoid becoming truly angry, and then continued in a softer timbre, "I understand a few aspects of your plight a lot better than you'd think.  I know what it's like to watch one's own race run as fast as it can down the road to hell without so much as batting an eyelid.  I was Human once remember?  Maybe Changelings are wasting their potential, but at least you aren't all in imminent danger of *dying* if you refuse to accept the necessity of change."

IJ raised an eyebrow, "Really?  How long do you think your kind, and Celestia, will continue to allow us to exist?  How many more deaths, and invasions, and lies, and deceptions will you all tolerate before she tacitly grants her approval for you wipe us out wholesale?  We'll fight hard.  You'll bleed deeply.  But do you really think we can win against the likes of you?"

Fyrenn blinked once, twice, then sighed morosely, "Touché."

The pair sat across from each other in silence, as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 17th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch raised an eyebrow, "This list you compiled is thirty-some names long..."  He set the DaTab down on the desk, and folded his hands as he craned his neck up to make eye contact with Taranis and Klarien, "How do you expect to find one thieving technician in this bunch?  Interview them all?"

The green Dragon raised an eyebrow, "You assume it is only one of them.  And are you implying that interrogation is a bad idea?"

Taranis nodded slowly, "True, it may be more than a lone HLF sympathizer, but the General is correct in implying that interrogation is a poor means to our end.  We are unlikely to be able to find all thirty of these men and women quickly enough to avoid alerting the true target, and giving him or her---"

Klarien interrupted, "Or them."

"---Or 'them' a chance to escape."  Taranis finished nonchalantly, but shot Klarien a brief glare nonetheless.

Hutch tilted his head slightly, and momentarily widened his eyes, "Exactly.  So unless you two have any other bright ideas...?"

Taranis blinked and nodded, "Of course.  We have no way to trace the stolen chips themselves;  The RFID tracking systems were burned off the PCBs before they left the factory.  And we can not risk incarcerating and interrogating the technicians on our list.  However, we do have the advantage of knowing the names of the only thirty people to ever have physical contact with the chips.  We also know precisely what they were used for, when, and by whom..."

Hutch raised his head and snapped his fingers.  His visage brightened considerably, "I see where you're going with this.  That's very clever."

Klarien raised an eyebrow scale, "Will someone kindly enlighten me?"

The General sighed and tapped a finger on the edge of his DaTab, "Thirty names isn't so many, all told.  It's the biggest advantage we have, and what Taranis is suggesting is that we use it to form a basis of comparison.  We know the Occupy Bureaus movement carried out the bombing.  We know they had HLF backing.  We know the backers acquired the chips from one or more of these thirty people.  So wherever these three aspects of the case cross..."

The verdant Dragon nodded slowly, "...Is where we'll find all the responsible parties.  But how do we even begin chasing down this particular... 'Conflux,' of people?"

Taranis glanced down at Hutch, "General, the HLF are going to do their best to remain hidden in all this.  They'll work by proxy using unofficial civilian members of the group who already closely align with the HOB.  Since the microchip thief is buried in this list of thirty names, that means only one of our leads is out in the open.  The Occupy movement itself.  I'd imagine we should start there."

Hutch sat back in his chair, lacing the fingers of his hands together, and placing them behind his head, "I won't argue with that.  I would, however caution you;  I have no problem with you using necessary roughness with the HOB, but it's going to upset a lot of powerful politicians.  More than that, if you play all our cards early and fail, the thief, backers, and their contacts will rabbit.  So you're only going to get one shot at this.  Make it count."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Eighteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining...  But could you give us an estimate of how much more ground we have to cover?  If for nothing else, then at least so we can plan our hunts and rests accordingly..."  

As he spoke, Kephic glanced over to IJ, who was quietly winging her way along at the outside edge of the formation.

The Pegasus kept her eyes locked on the moonlit ground below and beyond, "If we quicken our pace slightly, and minimize rest stops?  We can arrive by sundown tomorrow."

Fyrenn whistled, a long and low note, "Three days' flight between Cloudsdale and a Changeling Hive.  Sometimes it feels like a small world."

Varan raised an eyebrow, "Perhaps.  But getting larger every day."

Skye shifted, accidentally jabbing one of the sharper edges of her chest plate into Fyrenn's back, and eliciting a wince.  

She grinned sheepishly, "And when we get there?  What?  We're just gonna waltz right up to the front door, knock, and politely ask, 'Terribly sorry to trouble you, but we were wondering if you might spill all the beans on your invasion plans?'"

The line was delivered in a mock high society accent, and the levity of the moment even managed to tease out a smile from Varan.  The normally impassive Gryphon continued to grin, ever so slightly, as he explained, "Troop deployment on a massive scale is a complex undertaking.  Forces must be marshalled, and this necessitates a wide open space.  We will be able to easily observe the size and disposition of their forces from afar."

IJ glared, "You assume they can't keep them in the tunnels until time to march."

Kephic's eyes widened in concern, "*Can* they?!"

The white Pegasus sighed, "Did I say that?  The point was to get you to consider your assumptions.  You can assume *nothing* when dealing with my people.  Nothing."

The conversation died with IJ's grim assertion, and the group flew on in silence, accompanied only by the whisper of the wind, and the pale light of the moon.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 17th, Gregorian Calendar

"You're late."  Commander Aston didn't even look up from her lunch tray to greet Hutch.

The General sighed as he collapsed into a cafeteria seat across from Laura, "No.  You're early.  Besides, my last appointment was..."

Aston glanced up and smirked, "Big, scaly, and precocious?"

Hutch pinched the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger, "This job is gonna be the death of me one of these days."  He raised his fork to his mouth, and bit into a chunk of synthetic meat, continuing to speak around the food, "What about you?  Found anything so far?"

The Commander inclined her head at a DaTab beside her tray, "I've spent the last fifteen hours with the data your special investigative unit gathered from the attack site in London.  The Genesists were the target of a very, very sophisticated plot."

Hutch squinted in concern, "Meaning?"

Aston sighed, and leaned forward, "Meaning this took not just a mole, but one with incredible technical proficiency.  The connections between the building's AI, and the physical anti-Potion countermeasures, were bypassed at a root level, and the AI was tricked into thinking it was still connected to the countermeasures by means of devices specifically designed to emulate the monitor signals of the building's sensors.  This was grade-A work.  I don't even think our own technicians could have managed this."

The General whistled, "Shit.  So this jackass must've been trained off-site.  Which means if the PER got him into a technical position with access to the London complex..."

Laura finished the thought slowly, "...Then the PER had to backstop a full identity...  And create assurances that their agent would be hired to a specific post..."

Hutch grunted, "And all in the name of denying Humanity alternatives to their promised 'rebirth.' When we find this guy?  I'm throwing him to the Gryphons and the Dragons."

Aston raised an eyebrow, "Feeling vindictive are we?"

The General glowered down at the remains of his lunch, "The way I see it?  The worse we make it for the ones we capture, the more those still on the loose will think twice before acting in future."  Hutch paused with his fork halfway to his mouth, then inclined his head down at the almost-charred meat-substitute, "You ever seen what Dragons do to their prisoners?"





"I do not understand why we are walking."  Klarien tilted his head to glance at Taranis.

The latter Dragon sighed softly, "We live in a world of beings who are perpetually bound by gravity.  To find something they have hidden, it is sometimes necessary to look at things on their level.  In flying, we would miss too much by gazing from afar."

Klarien grimaced, "I'm not sure I want to see this at eye level.  Part of the reason I converted was to get away from poverty."  He gestured expansively to the scenery around him.

The Dragons had descended from Fort Hamilton to the lowest districts of Manhattan, both in terms of income, and location.  Their surroundings were bounded almost entirely by the foundations of enormous super-skyscrapers.  Most of the entrances to the buildings-proper were on higher floors, accessed mainly via elevated roads and train lines.  The lowest two to three-dozen levels of the immense structures were often separated from the remainder of the floors, and apportioned out as low rent micro-flats and bodegas with their own ground-level entrances.

The towers stretched away to the sky in all directions, generating a cloistered and oppressive feeling with their monolithic dull-toned metal exteriors.  The only brighter punctuation to the never ending façade of steel and duracrete, was the occasional presence of neon signs, holographic billboards, and halon streetlights.

The two great reptiles were a stunning anachronism;  Mountains of glittering scales sedately traversing the landscape, the brighter coloration of their exterior covering occasionally emphasized by the headlights of an oncoming car.

Most of the streets and sidewalks were deserted.  People congregated in small, shifty, nervous groups inside the doors of seedy dives, or the protection of back alleys.

Klarien squinted in confusion, "I expected to see more people down here...  Overpopulation and such..."

Taranis thrummed, "Hmmm.  It is the middle of a work day during an all-points evacuation.  Anyone who is not at their place of employment, or within their home, is likely up to business best done out of sight of surveillance."

The Green Dragon raised an eyebrow, "And you expect to find the center of the Bureau Occupation movement here?"

"Of course.  The main instigators of the movement, and those they have most closely under their thrall, are effectively criminals.  The only place they can find safe haven is with fellow law breakers, particularly impoverished ones who share their antigovernmental views, particularly in areas with a lower profusion of technological surveillance.  All we must do is seek out areas conspicuously devoid of all Equestrian influence as well;  For there we will find not only those who hate the Earth government, but Equestrians as well."

After several moments of walking in relative silence, with only the hum of climate control units, distant cars, and quiet nearby conversations to fill the air, Klarien spoke once more.

"You have to admit;  Some of these people have good reason to hate their government.  Look how they're living.  And now they're being told that what they do have is going to be taken irrevocably away by a natural disaster, but the government isn't going to insure them for it.  Worse, they were told they might have to pay to move away.  Earthgov was treading some dangerous territory with the tax policy..."

Taranis nodded, "True and valid.  But in the end, the systems of checks and balances prevailed, more or less.  Humanity's leaders still understand the danger of governing from behind closed doors.  Secrecy and a lack of safeguards breeds bias, and unhealthy subjectivity.  And that can lead to anything..."

Klarien stared at his elder counterpart, head tilted in curiosity, the scales around his eyes and mouth wrinkling slightly, "You sound like you're talking from experience."

The cobalt Dragon's response was devoid of tone, "More than you know."

After nearly half a minute of silence, Klarien grew impatient, "So?  Are you going to tell me what that means?  Your file said ex-military...  What?  You run afoul of Earthgov intelligence?"

Taranis snorted, "Not precisely.  I will not tell the whole story.  I doubt you would believe me if I did, nor do we have time.  Suffice to say;  At one point I was one of the most wanted men on the planet, because I dared to do what was right, and opposed those in power."

Klarien raised an eyebrow, "Oh come on, it can't have been---"

The blue Dragon interrupted, once again with stoic atonality, "I opened fire on the bridge of a Providence class destroyer with a 50 caliber VTOL-mounted anti-personnel railgun, killing twenty people including the captain, first officer, and a senior member of the intelligence community."

Taranis continued walking unabashedly.  Klarien paused, frozen stock still in shock.  After regaining his faculties, he had to sprint briefly to catch up with his partner, "Ooook.  I'm not even sure how to respond to that one.  Obviously you were cleared eventually."  He paused reflectively, then inhaled and turned to face Taranis once more, "I suppose the question that comes to mind is this;  How can you hold these occupy protesters and the HLF accountable as criminals in this instance?  By all accounts, they're just doing the same thing you did.  Standing up for what's right with necessary violence---"

Before he quite had time to react, Klarien found himself firmly ensconced in Taranis' grip, his shoulders immobilized by vice-like blue claws.  The larger Dragon's muzzle darted to within an inch of his own, and his snout tingled unpleasantly as Taranis began to exhibit small arcs of electricity.

His voice came out as a growl, more reminiscent of oncoming thunder than civilized words, "I killed twenty people who were complicit with a conspiracy to slaughter two innocent civilians under my protection, and then likely dozens more with whom they had contact after the fact.  It was either destroy the bridge of that ship, or watch it shell an innocent and defenseless craft.  The HLF?  The Bureau Occupiers?  They kill *innocents* in the name of their crusade.  They invalidate the only legitimate points they have by carelessly wiping out life whenever it suits them!  Their *only* desire is to create fear, and bend others to their biased will.  They have *no* honor, and no legitimate morality.  Do not forget it again, or this partnership will end with the infliction of serious bodily harm that you will not find it easy to recover from."

As Taranis released him, Klarien shivered, "Point taken."





The dive was most definitely 'the place.'  Even Klarien could find no reason to argue otherwise.  After walking for almost two hours in silence, following Taranis' guiding intuition, the pair had come upon a dilapidated looking building from New York's earliest pre-winnowing periods.

The 'small' thirty-story building was sandwiched between a skyscraper, and a pair of super-skyscrapers.  It appeared so run down that without the presence of lights peeking out from behind the shuttered windows, and an armed guard casually strolling back and forth in the doorway, there would have been no indication from the front the structure was inhabited at all.

Closer inspection, however, revealed a small tent city sequestered in the alley behind the dive.  The propped-up protest signs identified it as a large HOB encampment.

Klarien huffed, "I suppose we could just barge in?"  The two Dragons were positioned further up the street, peering out of a darkened alley towards the establishment.  The name of the bar was just barely visible as a small worn hand painted sign above the door; 'Darwin's.'

Taranis inclined his head, "Such an approach has serious potential downsides.  But given that the guard's weapon is a RAC-6 military castoff..."

The green Dragon nodded slowly, "A bit upscale for your usual street thugs..."

"...And then there is the makeshift settlement in the alley.  The occupy movement is most definitely here."  Taranis stood, unmoving, contemplating the situation.  His muzzle betrayed none of the thoughts or emotions racing through his brain.  Finally he nodded once curtly, "In this instance?  I agree.  Our best choice would be to simply... 'Barge in.' "

Klarien's eyes widened.  He hadn't expected Taranis to actually agree with his suggestion.  Nonetheless, he managed a grateful smirk as his cohort set off sedately down the street, towards the Darwin's entrance.

The green Dragon caught up just in time to observe the door guard slowly raise his rifle.  The man glowered at Taranis as he lumbered ever closer.  He mumbled through his thick beard, "Can I help you scaly?"

Taranis continued ambling towards the door, not even deigning to acknowledge the man.  As the cobalt Dragon reached the door itself, the man tensed and flicked the safety of his RAC into the 'auto' position.

Focused as he was on Taranis, he failed to notice Klarien until it was too late.  The verdant reptile tapped him once on the shoulder, eliciting a turn of the head.  The moment the man's nostrils were visible, the Dragon exhaled, releasing a massive pent-up breath.  The air carried with it a tang akin to cut grass in the rain, or fresh sarsaparilla root, but with a sickly undercurrent like antifreeze or morphine.

The guard had just enough time to slur out a half formed word of query, before he slumped to the ground completely comatose.

Taranis continued without pause, reaching out and forcing the door open, against the significant pressure of its small magnetic lock, with a loud 'SNAP.'  The inside of the establishment was so noisy, and raucous, that no one noticed the sound, or even took heed of the Dragons at first.

A tightly clustered morasse of ill-dressed, ill-kempt Humans smelling strongly of syntheholic beverages were clustered around a series of old wood tables, and a dilapidated granite bar.  The oak and teak on display were, while in a state of disrepair, very real and thus very rare and expensive.

The Darwin's occupants seemed to be roughly split between militaristically clad individuals, who were sporting a variety of hidden tactical weapons, and more shabbily clad HOB protesters with a few improvised destructive implements.

The air was thick with electronic cigarette smoke, and the occasional more pungent cloud of a custom-rolled artificial drug laden cigar.  The lighting was dim, and the food and drink looked and smelled as if it had been prepared in a pig sty.

The Dragons squeezed through the small entryway, and stood silently for a few moments, eyes and infrared pits piercing the gloom and scanning the faces of the crowd.  Slowly, the bar's occupants began to notice them, but by the time their hostile murmurs had reached a zenith, the reptilian pair had spied their quarry.

At the farthest end of the bar, near the stairs and rusting elevator bank at the rear of the main room, was a small group of people conversing in hushed tones.  They appeared to be evenly split between HOB members dressed slightly better than their cohorts, and HLF members equipped with military-grade sidearms.

What drew the Dragons' attention most, however, was the conspicuous presence of a man dressed in clean, middle-class casual civilian clothing.  He stuck out like a sore claw in the crowd, and given the circumstances both partners immediately guessed that he was their quarry.

The pair began to force their way between the tables.  The patrons glowered with increasing hostility, but shrank away nonetheless.  The sheer size of the Dragons, and the alien nature of their scale clad forms, was highly intimidating.

Taranis helped himself to a seated position on the floor by the bar next to the casually-dressed man.  Now that his face was visible, the cobalt Dragon was easily able to identify it as belonging to one of the technicians on their target list.  Even when seated on the floor, and even given that the Humans were ensconced on tall stools, Taranis' eyes were still a good four inches higher than those of the tallest man in the bunch.

He allowed his voice to flow out as a low rumble, "Are you Mr. Aland Triff?"  The man's eyes widened as he turned to discover the immense piercing Draconic orbs confronting him.

When he spoke, his voice cracked in fear, "Ahm...  Ahhh...  Wh-wh-who wants to know?"

Taranis allowed a small snap of lightning to form briefly between his teeth, adding an electrical tang to the hazy air, "We're here on behalf of the JRSF.  We have some questions that you need to answer.  Refusal would be...  Unhealthy."

Triff gulped once, and his eyes darted back and forth between Taranis and the door.  He tensed in preparation for a laughable escape attempt, but his ill-advised plan was cut short by a green claw that materialized on his shoulder.  Klarien glared as Triff jumped in surprise, "I wouldn't do that.  The guy outside may, or may not ever wake up, after what I dosed him with.  Would you like to try it next?"

Before the impromptu interrogation could continue, the distinctive whine of an active, charging rail-pistol pierced the silence.  Taranis sighed in exasperation, and spoke without turning to face the soldier holding the pistol to the back of his head, "Serrata-Tech forty-eight caliber service rail-pistol.  I am afraid you will need something slightly larger in this instance.  Put down the weapon."

The man, e-cig clenched between his teeth, pistol grasped firmly in both hands, grunted, "Ya'll had best be on your way.  We don't serve your kind in this here establishment.  'S a Humans-only bar ya see."

Taranis nodded slowly, "We would be happy to oblige."  He made as if to stand, placing a guiding claw on Aland as he did so.  He paused as he felt the cold titanium of the soldier's pistol press against his scales.

The HLF follower growled, "This man here is a patron.  You don't touch our patrons.  Mess with one of us, you'll have to deal with all of us."

Taranis sighed again, releasing Triff and turning slowly to face the soldier.  His muzzle bore a look of utmost disdain, his eyelid scales drooped and his lower jaw jutted slightly.

In a blur too quick to afford a Human nervous system any sort of reaction time, the blue Dragon seized the soldier's head lightly in one claw.  The man let loose with his pistol on full automatic, burning through the entire one hundred round clip in under four seconds.  The projectiles pinged haphazardly off of Taranis' scales, ricocheting all over the bar and shattering lights, glasses, and wood surfaces.

The Dragon grunted, "The patron namesake of your establishment would be rather ashamed.  Clearly natural selection has not favored you very highly."  As he finished speaking, Taranis tightened his right claw.  The gesture appeared effortless, but with a loud 'CRUNCH,' it compressed the soldier's skull to a bone and paste mixture less than one quarter his head's original size.

Taranis casually allowed the corpse to fall to the floor, and turned to face the stunned patrons of the bar, speaking calmly, "Any other takers?"





"Is he dead?"  The man nudged at the corpse with his boot.  His companion spat on the pavement, her voice laden with disgust, "Looks like."

The man glanced up, "What do you suppose happened?  Heart attack?"

The woman snorted, "In this day and age?  Are you kiddin'?  Some punk probably shiv'd him 'tween the ribs with a monoblade..."

Before the pair of HOB protesters could continue examining the dead door guard, the front wall of the building before them exploded, in the most literal sense.  Stone, brick, mortar and wood shivers flew outward as if propelled by an explosive detonator.

As the debris settled, the protesters looked up through the haze, and beheld a trio of dismembered armed bodies in the rubble.  A wordless glance passed between them, and in silent agreement they bolted off down the street as if pursued by minions of hell itself, not even waiting to discover the source of the blast.

Taranis stepped through the forty-foot hole in the Darwin, a furious HLF soldier clutched in each of his foreclaws, and five more driven before him on the pavement, firing their small arms pointlessly into his thick armored chest.

With a bellow, he dropped the prisoners in his foreclaws, and let loose with his breath.  Lightning arced across all seven soldiers with ten times the voltage and amperage necessary to do lethal harm.  As the effect continued, their bodies abruptly flash-converted to ash piles and blackened skeletons, which fell lifeless into heaps within their own singed armor and clothing.

Taranis glanced over his shoulder at the remainder of the bar's patrons, who were all frozen in abject primal terror and shock at having witnessed the display.  He nodded to Klarien, who snatched Aland Triff by one ankle, and began carrying him out of the bar upside down and yowling in fear.

One brave soldier made as if to raise his rifle.  Klarien snatched the weapon by its barrel nonchalantly with his free claw, and broke it over the soldier's head.  The titanium squealed momentarily under the stress before it, and the man's skull, caved in two simultaneously.

As the Dragons walked away from the bar on their hind legs, their prisoner still screaming hoarsely for aid, Klarien smiled, "Well whaddya know.  No one else feels lucky today.  Can't imagine why."
> Chapter 15
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

As the hours had ticked on and on, Fyrenn had noticed a gradual change in the terrain below.  Mile by mile the forests and fields of Equestria, and snow-capped mountaintops belonging to the Minotaurs, had fallen away into rocky crags and desolate canyons.

Since the sun had begun to set several hour previous, the only visible terrain features had been comprised of either rock, or crystal.  Not a single plant or animal stirred in the dying rays of the evening's light.

Fyrenn rocked slightly, dipping first one wing and then the other, to waken Skye.  The Unicorn had been quietly snoring since noon, and the Gryphon had let her have her rest.  Having more or less arrived at their destination, he decided that an extra pair of eyes, and her razor sharp intellect, would soon be beneficial to their task.

Skye yawned, tried to stretch, and was forced to scramble to avoid falling off of Fyrenn's back, "Sorry!"

Fyrenn snorted, "What?  Forget you were on the road?  Err...  Wing?"

The Unicorn snorted, "Not that your feathers aren't soft and all...  But I'd really rather get my shuteye on a surface that isn't moving through their air constantly."

Carradan snorted, "You got no room to complain.  You *got* to sleep.  Some of us actually have to move muscles to get places!"

Kephic grinned, "Yes, but look at it this way;  The more you work, the more buff you get.  The more buff you get, the better chances you have with the mares."

IJ glowered up at the speckled Gryphon from her position at the bottom of the formation, "*Don't* encourage him."

Varan grunted, and gestured down to the sharp spires of granite below, "I hate to intrude, but I see nothing resembling an army down there.  Unless the invasion involves battalions of eroded mineral formations."

Fyrenn turned his eyes to follow his brother's talon, and exhaled, "It is very quiet down there," he glanced over to IJ and raised an eyebrow, "How close are we?"

IJ squinted, looking concerned as her ears flattened slightly, "Very.  The entrance to the Hive is just there..."  The Pegasus motioned with a hoof towards an unassuming outcropping of shale.

Kephic whistled, "That's exceptionally well hidden."

Skye shifted uncomfortably, "So why no soldiers?  Shouldn't this canyon be swarming with Drones?"

Fyrenn cocked his head, "In theory anyways.  I don't like this.  I do not like this one little bit."

Kephic shot a questioning glance at IJ, "Any chance the message was some sort of diversion?  Or the time scale was off, and the attack isn't supposed to happen yet?"

The ex-Changeling's glare was more than answer enough.  

Varan growled deep in his throat and chest, "We are not entirely alone.  I believe there are at least two sentries below us."

Fyrenn glanced over his shoulder at Skye, "You think you can conjure that disruption spell of yours while in motion?"

The unicorn's eyes widened, and she fixed her friend with a suspicious glare, "Yyyyeesss? Why?"

The Red Gryphon smirked, "I'm thinking we should try the 'direct approach.' "

Kephic chuckled, "Ah yes.  My favorite way to make new friends."

Noting IJ's confused expression, Carradan leaned in and spoke in a mock stage whisper, "By, 'make friends,' he really means, 'make bloody smears on the wall.' "

The white Pegasus merely responded by rolling her eyes.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

"Has he said anything?"  Hutch tipped back his thermos, then shot a questioning glance at Taranis, flicking his eyes briefly towards the prisoner;  Aland Triff.

The Dragon responded with a silent shake of his enormous plated head, "Nothing besides expressing a deep desire to retain all his limbs intact, and a feeble demand for legal counsel."

The General took another sip of his coffee, then shrugged, "Alright then.  This shouldn't take long."

Taranis inclined his head slightly, "*You* intend to handle the interrogation?"

Hutch smirked and rolled his eyes, "Please.  Just because I don't breathe fire doesn't mean I don't know how to put the fear of God into some thug on the other side of a steel table."  He strode to the door, and paused, glancing over one shoulder, "Besides, this rat enabled terrorists to kill innocent people on my doorstep.  I'm not shy about personally returning favors."

Taranis stepped to the one-way window and watched, with a detached interest, as Hutch entered the interrogation room.  As he took his seat, with almost casual nonchalance, Klarien entered through the observation room's secondary access.

The Green Dragon paused, and raised one scale above his left eye, "Did I miss something?"

"No.  But I suspect you won't want to miss what follows."  Taranis pointed to the observation window with a single claw, and the two reptiles shuffled as close as they could, to get a view of the room beyond.

Hutch pulled a small container from his pocket, unscrewed the cap, and upended the contents onto the table.  The small black objects rattled against the steel, and their plastic-like smooth surfaces gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting.

Triff squinted down at the small ring-like articles, before looking back up at Hutch, "Are these supposed to prove something?  I want my *lawyer.*  I have rights..."

The General dipped his head towards the mystery objects, "Go ahead.  Take a closer look."

The accused man picked up one of the rings of material, and fingered it briefly, holding it up to the light, "So?"

"So the way I see it, you get one life sentence for each.  That's four consecutive one hundred and ten year periods, incase you missed it."

Triff raised an eyebrow, and held up the object clutched between his thumb and forefinger, "For a couple of bomb fragments that you can't tie to me?"

Hutch took a deep draught of his thermos, speaking just before he did so, "Finger fragments actually."

It took Aland a full two seconds to comprehend the words.  Once the reality of what he was touching dawned on him, he fumbled wildly, and dropped the bone back onto the table, shivering in revulsion, "GEEEZ!"

The General lashed out with his right fist, slamming Triff's shaking hand down on top of the bone, and then applying a constant pressure.  His voice was calm, but laden with an obvious disdain, and controlled fury, "We have proof that you sold the HLF classified microcomputer devices that were then used as components of an IED.  You're facing charges of terrorism, treason, disseminating classified information, theft, industrial espionage..."

Hutch sat back and folded his arms, "You're in a *world* of shit son."

Triff rubbed his bruised hand, and glowered sullenly, "You can't prove even one of these assertions.  You arrested me just because I worked on the factory floor the chips were stolen from, and decided to get a drink at a bar you didn't like.  You're going to lose *your* head over this.  *I'm* going to go back to my job;  And I'm going to bring civil charges against your unit."

Hutch began to chuckle.  Triff tilted his head in confusion, and in response the General held up a hand, and wiped tears of mirth from his eyes, "No no...  You're right.  We don't have enough evidence to convict you in an Earthgov court.  But you're going to plead guilty to the lesser charges anyways."

Aland snorted, "And why would I do that?  Whatcha gonna do?  Break my knuckles?"

The General tilted his head back and forth, as if considering the offer, "As tempting as that sounds?  No.  I'm just going to sign this."  He snapped his fingers above the table, and a holographic interface appeared, displaying a short official looking document.

Triff leaned forward to read it, as Hutch continued to speak, "Here's a fun fact you may not be aware of.  Bureaus are considered partially the sovereign territory of all the species involved in the Conversion Accords.  Now I'm sure you remember those two fine scaly gentlemen who initially arrested you?  Well it turns out that your mere presence in a known HLF establishment is enough evidence to convict you by *Draconic* law."

Aland sat back and raised an eyebrow, "I'm an Earthgov citizen.  I don't give a rat's ass what their laws say."

Hutch chuckled, "Oh, well you should.  You see this document is an extradition order.  I'm going to sign it, and you're going to be remanded into their custody.  By the time any legal action is taken against me on your behalf, they will be punishing you according to the dictates of their laws, that you seem so very nonchalant about.  Do you know what Dragons do to enemies who commit terror attacks on their soil?"

The General reached out with both hands, snagging Triff's left hand in a firm grip, and a finger bone in the other.  He pressed the charred and blackened object into Triff's hand, and grinned, "By the time they're finished with you?  This is all that'll be left.  For genetic identification purposes, and such."

Hutch rose and made his way to the door.  As he pressed his thumb to the exit control, allowing it to sample his DNA to disengage the lock, he glanced over his shoulder, "I guarantee you though, whatever they do to you won't be nearly as quick as what your bombs did to those fingers.  Dragons prefer their food slow-roast.  Can I get you anything for your last meal?  We have lots of nice fresh Equestrian produce in the kitchens---"

"ALRIGHT!"  Triff slammed his fist into the table, and took a deep shaking breath, "Alright.  I'll tell you everything I know."

The General stepped calmly back to the table, and tapped its surface with his index finger, "And you'll plead guilty to the charges of industrial espionage, and theft.  Ten years in max-sec lockup without parole.  You give us what we want, you serve time, safe and sound from any of your former comrades I might add...  And you stay in one room-temperature piece.  I'll even throw in the fresh high-class meal to boot.  Deal?"

Triff nodded morosely.  Hutch smiled, and sat down in his chair once more, "Good choice.  How about we start with your contact in the HLF."





April glanced up at the concrete girders and sighed as a maglev whisked by overhead, it's bright halogen headlights sliced through the midnight drizzle as though they were solid gleaming blades of luminescence.  She allowed herself a brief moment to fantasize about stepping onto one of those trains and trying to make an escape.

The desire passed almost as quickly as it came.  When the first evacuation orders had hit in lower Manhattan, she and Sonya had tried to make an exit in the confusion and hustle.  But the spikes betrayed them.

The nanites that saturating their blood, produced by the array of metallic objects buried in their spines, were infallible tracing beacons.  Sonya had the scars to prove it.  The men in armor had stopped the train before it even made it to the city limits.  Then they had gunned down everyone else onboard.

The sisters had barely escaped with their lives, and Sonya had nearly lost an arm.

April knew they were in no danger of being caught by the bubble.  They were too valuable to their handlers to be left to die.  Yet, she grimly reflected as she picked the lock on the container in front of her, not so valuable as to be left unmolested.

When she had been younger, she hadn't understood why those who commanded them were always pursuing them, and were even willing to kill them if they failed to escape.  Then she had been spiked, and it began to make sense.

Using the spikes was not something that could be taught.  It had to be intuited.  Fear, it seemed, was the strongest and fastest motivator to induce the brain to achieve proficiency.  April had seen others her age who had failed to learn the spikes.  Sometimes their corpses contained useful resources.  Money, food, water.

Sometimes resources were harder to come by, and more drastic action was needed.  Sonya had found a container yard several days prior.  It had been setup as part of the evacuation efforts in midtown.

April and her sister had returned under cover of darkness to discover that some of the enormous metal boxes contained relief provisions.  She finished picking the lock, a trivial exercise, and swung open the container's main doors, gesturing to Sonya, who was hiding in the shadows of the next container over filling the role of lookout.

The pair darted inside the ten meter long steel crate, and found themselves facing row upon row of packaged dry goods; 
Non-perishable food, water purification tablets, and medical kits.

Sonya grinned, "Perfect!"

April hefted a small trauma care package, "We should take as many of these as we can carry.  Food and water are easier to find..."

"Riiiight.  Meds and stims, less so."  Sonya pulled the pack from her shoulders, opened the top flap, and began to rapidly sweep medkits into the empty space with her left arm.

April shifted uncomfortably as she picked through the food and water supplies, "Are you sure we should be doing this?  It's not as if this stuff is just lying around...  There are evacuees that need it too."

Sonya snorted, "There's a million of them, and only two of us.  Besides, dontcha think the high and mighty government can afford to replace what little bit we need to keep going?  They produce this stuff twice as fast as people could ever consume it, even in the worst case."

April sighed and hefted a packet of iodine tablets, "Do you think they're all like the ones who chase us?"

"No.  Worse." Sonya finished with her pack, snapped the lid shut with an angry finality, and moved to help her sister sort through the foodstuffs, "They're willfully blind.  They know that some of their underlings do horrible things to innocent people, and they let it pass because in the end we're 'useful' to them.  They choose deliberately to know nothing about us, except that somewhere, somehow, an 'asset' exists that does a job as part of the great machine of 'progress.' "

"Where do you suppose they'll send us when Manhattan is swallowed?"  April made a dour expression, and kicked over a small stack of food packets in a combination of disgust, and frustration that spilled over into her tone.

Sonya shrugged, "Another big city.  Maybe Vancouver, or San Francisco."

April sighed, sank to the floor, and hugged her knees, "How do they keep finding us? Do they track the nanomachines with communication towers maybe?  Do you think---"

Her sister held up a hand, "Don't get your hopes up kiddo.  This is Earthgov we're talking about.  Each of us probably has a dedicated personal SatVision on-orbit that does nothing but keep a close watch on our every move and vital signs.  Unless you can figure some way to get the nanites out of our blood entirely, the most we can do is keep running and keep living."

April glanced up and tilted her head, "There's always potion, right? "

Sonya nodded, and smiled wanly, "When you're old enough?  Yeah."

"But nine years is a long tiiiiime!  Can't we get some off the street?"  April's lip jutted out, and she injected as much pout into her whine as possible.  She knew that it was a losing battle.  She and Sonya had the same conversation on an almost monthly basis, and it always ended the same way.

Her older sister shook her head vehemently, "Nothing has changed since the last time we went over this April.  Conversion doesn't work like that.  Without proper treatment the Potion will do to us what it did to Simon."

April sighed, hugged her knees close once more, and wiped away a small tear from her right eye.  For almost a year, Simon had been a friend to them both, and travelled with them all over the city.  He was kind, selfless, and secretly she decided he had been in love with Sonya.

The three had decided on a plan to escape their tormentors, by taking illicit street potion distributed by the PER.  Simon had volunteered to go first to test the process.

Sonya and April had been forced to watch as the nanites produced by his spikes fought against the nanites in the Conversion serum, and vice versa.  In the end his body had liquefied to base carbons before the serum could overpower the spikes, and finish taking effect.  Simon had died in agony.  Just another in a string of innocent people who had suffered trying to help the sisters.

They had sworn an oath afterwards;  Never again would they allow another to sacrifice on their behalf.

Sonya leaned against the container wall, then slid down into a sitting position beside her sibling, placing a comforting arm around her shoulders, "Hey.  Look at it this way sis;  You've survived with me this long.  We can make it through nine more years.  The day you turn eighteen?  We'll march right into the nearest Bureau and get treated and Converted on the spot."

The plan was a long shot, but it was all the sisters had.  The ACACIA law had lowered the minimum age of Conversion consent to eighteen, assuming the Bureau didn't ask too many questions about why the siblings needed augmentation removal treatment pre-Conversion, they had a small chance of actually managing to go through with it before their captors could intuit what was actually happening.

Once free of the spikes, and the nanites, they would be able to cross over to Equestria.  The word itself had come to be synonymous with Heaven for Sonya and April.  The fabled Elysium Fields.  Eden unspoiled.  A place where their captors could never hope to follow them.  

A place where they could be free.

"Think about this,"  Sonya smiled down at April, clapping her on the shoulder, "Eighteen is really young for a Pony!  We'll have a long, long, long time to forget all this.  After a decade?  It'll all seem like nothing more than a bad dream."

Sonya stood, and pulled April to her feet, "We'll get there."

April forced a smile, "Promise?"

"I promise."

The pair swiftly filled April's pack with an even mixture of food, and water purification supplies, before making one final survey of the container's interior to ensure there was nothing else worth taking.

As the siblings exited back out into the Manhattan drizzle, Sonya glanced over her shoulder, "I thought I saw a cooking equipment label on one of the smaller containers, maybe we should---"

To April's confusion and dismay, her sister froze mid-sentence.  The next telltale warning sign appeared too late for April to take any action.  She could already feel the tingle beginning in her own spine.

The sensation was all to familiar, like a limb going to sleep, but over the entire body;  Skin, bones, and muscles alike.  April froze, unable to move anything except her eyes.  All other muscles save her heart, and lungs, were locked down by her own nanites.

A hologram appeared over Sonya's back displaying the word 'LOCKED' prominently, much like the hologram April knew to be hovering over her own back.

she could feel the exterior plating of her spikes irising outwards into maintenance mode, a process she could see occurring on her sister's back.  A blue glow emanated from her spine, and there was a disconcerting ripple of movement under her shirt as the protective plates opened, granting access to the spikes for repair or upgrade purposes.

"Girls.  I hope you're having a pleasant evening..."  The voice, like the horrifying sensation of nightmarish immobility, was familiar.  Sonya and April knew their 'handler' only by his codename.  'Minos.'

The man stepped from the shadows beside the container, grinning wickedly.  The rain gave his unmarked black armor a reflective aspect, matched by the oily dampness of his dark hair.  He was young, likely no more than thirty years old, and he held a small DaTab that had complete control over the sisters' nanites.

Aside from that, the only other fact they knew about him was that he was their immediate superior, and responsible for the soldiers that chased them.

He always met them alone, and unannounced.  He seemed to feel no need for guards of re-enforcements of any kind, and why should he?

No matter how hard Sonya and April tried, they could never budge so much as an inch in 'lockdown mode.'  The nanites that filled their bodies were physically blocking all neurochemical impulses to their muscles.

Minos strode out to stand between the siblings slowly, his smile widening.

"Well well well!  I see you two have picked up a new bad habit."  He clucked softly, and stepped in close to Sonya, brushing his hand against her hair in a sick imitation of affection, "Girls your age shouldn't be stealing.  You're setting a bad precedent."

He slowly extracted the backpack from Sonya's shoulders, then stepped over to April, and did the same, shouldering both packs himself, "I am impressed with the lockpicking job though..."  He stepped over to the container, and pushed the doors closed casually, resetting the magnetic lock with a tap of the keypad, "But as of now you have other concerns, and we have need of you more...  'Tactical' skills."

Minos finished with the container, and made his way back to stand between the sisters.  He pulled a second DaTab from a pouch on his belt, held it up and wiggled it for emphasis, then dropped it to the pavement.  It was clearly a hardened military model, and suffered nothing from the impact, nor the dampness.

The man glanced from sibling to sibling, "We'll be sending you orders on that within the next few days.  I don't suppose I need to remind you what happens if you fail to follow those instructions, but what the hell eh?  I want to be able to sleep well tonight, and I figure you need the reminder, since you've already shown a willingness to steal."

He leaned in close to April, his hot breath pushing up against the skin of her face and triggering a maddening flight response in her brain, "If you fail to follow orders?  My men will stop playing 'hide and seek' with you, and start playing 'whack-a-bitch.'  I have not specified which of you should die first, but one of you *will* be forced to watch while they have their fun with the other...  And they're an imaginative lot if I do say so myself."

Minos leaned back, smiled, and held his hands up above his head in a gesture of subtle contempt, "Do your job, or lose your value.  It's that simple."

As he moved back towards the shadows, he tossed a final sentence over one shoulder, "And don't think about breaking into any more containers.  My men will be here in less than five minutes.  Your lockdown will rescind in four.  You're going to have a very busy night."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"Hello there!"

The sentry drones whirled to behold the last sight either of them expected;  A speckled black and white Gryphon, striding jovially out from behind a rock cropping, a smile plastered to his beak.

The drones tensed, and readied their wings, crouching forward into a combat pouncing stance.  Both tried, simultaneously, to raise their voices within the Hive to sound the alarm, only to find that they were abruptly cut off by a sharp pang of head pain.  The constant thrum of the Hive vanished, and it was only then that they realized they had made a grave mistake.

Kephic snorted, "Funny thing isn't it?  Magic.  Another funny thing?  At least I find it funny.  Creatures that live in a Hive are reliant on it.  Take that away..."  The Gryphon's grin changed from jovial, to predatory in one terrifying smooth second of transition, as he drew his glittering sword, "...And you lot aren't quite so good at the whole 'staying alive' thing."

The lead drone hissed, his fangs glittering in the sunset, "Two of us.  One of you.  Foolish Gryphon."

Kephic tapped the side of his head with his free claw, "Gryphons can't cast magic.  Where did the disruption spell come from?"

As the drones' eyes widened in sudden recognition of their plight, Fyrenn descended from above, claws outstretched.  The surprise attack robbed the lead drone of any chance at survival whatsoever.  Changelings were strong and durable, but not immune to a crushing all out assault.

The armored being put up a valiant resistance, but most of his internal organs had been crushed when Fyrenn stooped onto him, his weight augmented by the mass of Skye clinging to his back, and projected forward into his fisted claws.

In the end, the Gryphon was too swift to his task for the drone to have any chance at regenerating, or escaping the crushing grip of the avian's claws.

The second drone turned to bolt, doubtless hoping to warn the Hive of intruders, but found his way abruptly blocked by Varan and Carradan.  The former tapped his mace against one claw, "My brothers are very good shots.  You could try to fly..."

Carradan inclined his head, "...Buuuut you'd also have a long way to fall.  Cry uncle?"

The drone squinted in confusion.  Kephic tapped him on the shoulder, and smiled as his chitinous head whirled in surprise, "Means 'do you surrender?' "

The drone hissed, and backed away towards a defensible corner of craggy stone.  Fyrenn shrugged, "Guess that means no."

"You should have really taken them up on that."  The drone didn't even have time to turn fully, before IJ's back hooves connected firmly with his skull.

As the drone collapsed, Fyrenn whistled, "That was quite a shot..."

IJ raised her left eyebrow, "I knew precisely where to aim."

The red Gryphon shrugged, "Touché."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

"I don't suppose anyone can tell me why we're actually here?  Seems like a fat waste of time to me..."  The Blue Ridge's tactical officer slumped into his seat, and raised an eyebrow.

The LCA's entire senior staff had been requested to gather in the vessel's conference room to await a JRSF envoy.  The chamber was more well appointed than its counterpart on older naval vessels, sporting actual carpeting and a faux-oak main table.  The ceiling was pleasantly arched, and the space was well lit overall.

The captain glared, "You know why we're here.  The JRSF asked, we answered.  It's what we're here for.  For the duration of the mission, I need not remind you.  My advice to you?  Can the attitude and stow it where no one will see.  'Envoy' in this case probably means non-Human, which means you could end up breathing out of your colon if you mouth off."

"I prefer making my holes between the eyes.  But it's really a matter of personal touch."  All heads turned as Neyla's voice filled the room.  The tactical officer blanched momentarily, before realizing that she was being darkly humorous.  He chuckled sheepishly.

Behind the Gryphoness, General Sorven entered the room, a DaTab clutched under one arm, "Ladies and gentlemen.  Captain.  Time is short, so I'll make this simple,"  The General strode to the front of the room, set down the DaTab, and crosslinked it smoothly to the main screen.

"This," she gestured as a map appeared, "Is an HLF compound.  We found it by running analytics on military and civilian shipping manifests with a unique proprietary JRSF AI.  For obvious reasons, a facility of this size inside the city is a serious concern given the guest we expect to have here within the week."

Neyla nodded, "In short;  We can not allow this facility to continue to exist.  We're going to wipe it off the face of the planet."

Sorven tapped the main screen with one finger, "Unfortunately, we don't have the luxury of simply bombing the complex. 
The location was carefully chosen to make it all but impossible to use heavy weapons, a drone-strike, or Draconic assets, without causing extreme collateral damage to nearby apartment complexes."

The Gryphoness moved to stand beside the General, "As such, this will be a precision boots-on-ground strike.  Our forces are stretched thin, and we will be in need of tactical support by way of light air vehicles, troops, and AI processing power, from the Blue Ridge."

The Captain nodded, "That's what we're here for.  Action plan?"  The rest of the senior staff shifted subtly, straightening and leaning forward.

Neyla grinned, "I'm so glad you asked..."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"This...  Is a categorically bad idea."  Skye glowered down at the tiny air shaft, which was little more than a well disguised irregular hole cut into the side of a razor-sharp rock spire.

Fyrenn winced, "I'm not one to shy away from dangerous pastimes...  But I have to agree wholeheartedly.  This is a *bad* idea.  Unfortunately it is also the only way into the hive."

Varan nodded sagely, "We have little choice, save to enter unseen and see this supposed invasion force for ourselves."

Carradan grimaced, "Is it too late to cast a vote of 'neigh?' "

IJ responded by jamming her right hoof into his side, knocking the wind out of him.  The salmon Pegasus coughed, managing to wheeze out the words, "Geez! The pun wasn't *that* bad was it?!"

IJ narrowed her eyes, "That was meant to be humorous?"

Fyrenn groaned, " 'Neigh.'  Pony.  *Meant* to be humorous...  Not especially so in practice."

The white Pegasus shifted her glare back to Carradan, and delivered another jab with her hoof.  Carradan collapsed onto his side in a wheezing fit of equal parts pain, and laughter,  "I think..."  He coughed for several seconds before regaining partial control of his breathing, "...I think she likes me."

As Fyrenn stepped over his groaning companion towards the airshaft, he smirked, "I warned you about this Stan.  Anything seriously injured?"

The Pegasus grinned, and wobbled back to his hooves, "Just my pride."

Kephic gestured down the rough rock tube, "Remember;  After we're inside, *absolute* silence."

Varan nodded in agreement, "We enter, we reconnoiter, we leave as soon and as silently as possible."

As the Gryphons began to clamber down the air shaft, one by one, Skye sighed, and cast a wan look at Carradan and IJ, "Brace yourselves.  Nothing ever goes exactly according to plan in a place this creepy."

IJ raised an eyebrow once more, "For once?  We are in complete agreement."
> Chapter 16
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Luna sighed, and tapped one armored hoof against the small strongbox, "Only you know the permutation?"

The object was rectangular, metallic, and heavily riveted.  A complex lock based on Equine seasonal glyphs adorned the front, its gold and silver trim reflected onto the floor by the torchlight.

Sildinar nodded as he hefted the container, "Until it is delivered to Shining Armor?  Aside from you and your sister?  Yes."

Luna sighed once again, and glanced out the window at her moon.  The night was still young, but she had developed an incessant habit of checking its position every few minutes while it was in the sky, "I worry.  Is this truly the solution to my concerns?"

The Gryphon inclined his head, "Your sister has given her counsel.  She agreed to this.  I have no personal say in the matter. 
Indeed I have little opinion, because I am not sure I understand all the factors that went into the decision.  I am, however, quite happy to be of assistance."

The Lunar monarch nodded, and offered the closest thing to a smile Sildinar had ever seen on her muzzle, "Your kindness is appreciated.  I know the Crystal Empire is out of your way for your return journey."

"The time spent is worth it.  Give my regards to Celestia when she returns."  Sildinar began ambling towards the grand hall's immense doorways, and Luna fell into step beside him.

The princess gestured with a hoof, "Be safe, and swift of wing."

Sildinar smiled as he left his companion at the doors, spreading his wings while the guards opened the mighty portals, "You as well."

Silently, the Gryphon prince took to the air, strongbox firmly nestled between his wings, and tied to his rucksack, secure in the fact that only three living beings knew of the infinitely precious contents.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

"You're sure?"  Lantry steepled his fingers, and leaned in towards his screen, increasing the size of his face on Hutch's monitor.

The latter nodded emphatically, "Triff was very...  'Cooperative,' once he finally grasped the particulars of his situation.  He's been passing hardware to the HLF for a long time, and they trusted him enough to bring him out to their nearest compound for consultation work."

Lantry's brow furrowed, "Good work.  As disturbing as these developments are, it's good to finally be one step ahead."

Hutch sighed, and sat back in his chair, glancing briefly out of his office window at the distant Equestrian stars visible across nearly a third of the sky, "This is definitive proof that the Front is funding and puppeting the Occupy movement as well.  They set the bombs, the bombs were made with the chips Triff supplied, and his point of contact was purely HLF."

"Yes.  That little revelation has sparked some changes of heart inside Joint Command.  There's talk of establishing a treaty amendment to stipulate a mile-square safety zone around Bureaus and JRSF facilities wherein martial law would be in effect, and right of assembly would be indefinitely suspended."

Hutch's eyes widened, and he leaned forward once more, "Is that even legal?  Is there any kind of precedent?"

Lantry tilted his head, "Surprisingly, yes.  The initial terms of the Conversion accords allow for the establishment of not only sovereign Equestrian soil on Earth, but jointly-owned soil as well.  Under that stipulation, the species could establish the safe zones by unanimous vote, then invoke Gryphon law to permit the martial rule."

Hutch scratched the back of his neck, and sighed once more, "For now, I just want permission to handle the HLF.  I won't have anyone else dying on my watch."

Lantry tapped at his screen, "We discussed your predicament as well, and Earthgov Military command agrees.  It's time for the gloves to come off again."

"If we don't put holes in heads every now and again, the Front forgets who we are."  Hutch snorted wryly.

Lantry nodded slowly in agreement, "They attacked first.  They're HLF, so this is a purely military matter, and we're not going to suffer a repeat of Carrenton here.  You've been assigned an FB-26 squadron from Fort Bragg, a support artillery package from Tobyhanna Depot, and of course you're expected to make full use of all joint assets your command affords you."

Hutch chuckled, "Oh no worries.  I've never been one for subtlety."

Lantry sat back and folded his hands again, "And in this case, that's a good thing.  Command would like this done neatly, and quickly.  Strike hard and fast, pulverize any resistance, and pick your prisoners out of the survivors.  If there are any."

"Yes sir.  You want me to bring you back a souvenir?"  Hutch grinned, and raised an eyebrow.

Lantry shrugged, "I'll settle for more prisoners.  Actionable intelligence is the best thing you can possibly put on my desk."

Hutch chuckled more heartily, "So noted.  I'll try to convince the Dragons not to torch whatever is left before the troops land."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"Have I ever told anyone how much I hate small, dark places beneath the ground?  When I was a Human Marine I didn't used to be so damn claustrophobic..." Fyrenn grunted as he scraped one wing against a particularly rough protrusion of rock.

Kephic held a talon up to his beak for silence, but spoke in ironic defiance of his own gesture, "Well we're flighted creatures.  What did you expect to go along with that?  A proficiency in mining?  An urge to go spelunking?"

IJ glared at the two Gryphons, but Varan beat her to the verbal punch, "If our voices echo through this tube and carry to an occupied chamber, we will almost certainly be caught and slaughtered by a vastly superior host of foes.  Shut.  Your.  Beaks."

Carradan rolled his eyes, confident that no one would catch the gesture in the darkness.  

The group pressed on, wiggling through the rock tube, until it abruptly widened out into a small chamber.  The smooth basalt walls were peppered with a dozen other offshoot apertures.  The Gryphons paused, squeezing to one side to allow IJ to pass and examine the potential routes.

The Pegasus swiveled her head from opening to opening, before finally raising her snout and sniffing twice.  Her eyes immediately went to one exit in particular; the irregular, dim opening was slightly larger than the other exits, and to the Gryphons' collective relief, IJ motioned with a hoof towards it.

The group continued their silent, unpleasant journey with Fyrenn in the lead, and Varan in the rear.  While Carradan and Skye swiftly lost track of time, IJ had enough combat experience to keep a fairly precise internal clock. 

The Gryphons were both blessed, and cursed, with the ability to count and recount the exact seconds since the start of their trip.  In the absence of anything to look at, or even listen for, Fyrenn found himself agonizing over the passage of time.

His only consolation was the presence of his friends.  

Gryphons subjected their warriors to intense tests designed to strain both mind, and body, to the breaking point, before promoting them to Knight status.  One of the more difficult tests involved being dropped into a deep cave with no light whatsoever, and not a single soul for companionship.

For an avian, particularly one reliant on its eyesight, there were few physical tortures worse than total enclosure in a small dark space.

A horrifying thought occurred to Fyrenn;  He had nowhere to go if a smaller opponent, such as a young Drone, were to surprise him.  His relative bulk would make him an easy target, and his equal agility would be useless in a space so small that he was unable to even twitch his wings.

Just as the thought occurred to him, however, he found himself suddenly tumbling out of the tube, and into a dimly lit space.

He turned his momentum to his advantage, and rolled silently, drawing his sword in the process.

The red Gryphon came up to his hind legs, and assumed a ready stance, as the rest of the group forced their way out of the ventilation shaft.

The lighting in the chamber was barely equivalent to what a smoldering leaf would have produced, but it was more than enough for Gryphic eyes to make out every detail.  

Fyrenn squinted, then raised an eyebrow, and cast a curious glance at IJ.  He gestured to the cavern's most obvious feature, and spoke under his breath, "Pods?"

Lining both walls for several meters were a series of organic pod-like structures.  The pony-sized containers looked as if they had been grown into the rock, and their leading face was made from some sort of glistening hardened secretion that emitted a faint glow.

IJ nodded, "They're for healing, and regeneration, when the Hive does not have the energy to repair the damage the normal way.  We've...  They've been using them all too often recently."

Kephic glanced at the cavern's two diametrically opposed entrances, "Which way now?"

IJ's brow knit, and she shook her head, "I'm not sure."

Carradan flinched, and the panic in his voice elevated the volume of his whisper to wince-inducing levels, "Are you saying---"  Skye roughly smacked his left hoof, and glared.  The Salmon Pegasus blushed, and continued in a lower tone, "Are you saying we're lost inside a *Hive*?"

The ex-Changeling raised one eyebrow disdainfully, "I know where *both* of these lead generally speaking...  But I do not know which path we should take.  We should have met stiff opposition by now if an army was truly being mustered here in secret."

Varan's beak turned down, and his ears flattened in concern, "This is, indeed, troubling.  Is it possible new expansion tunnels have been created since your departure?"

IJ nodded, "Yes.  And if so, they'd be off of the main Cavern.  That's up the passage to the north...  But getting through the central chamber without being spotted is impossible."

Fyrenn shook his head, "But we *have* to know if they're readying an assault."

Kephic held up a claw, "Shouldn't we be able to tell if they are just by observing the activity in the central chamber?"

IJ nodded once more.  Kephic gestured with his head towards the northern passage.  Fyrenn stepped forward to the point position once more, followed by IJ, then Kephic.  Skye and Carradan followed side by side, and Varan provided rear guard.

The group was finally inside the Hive.  Threats could come from anywhere, at any time.  And their enemies had the homefield advantage.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch placed both hands on the center console, and leaned over the dim green holoprojection of the landscape.  The interface structure itself was situated between the vehicle's Commander on the left, and the Gunner on the right.

Both officers were faced by large sweeping stereoscopy-enabled screens that provided a night-vision view of the vehicle's exterior.

The Commander doubled as driver, and thus had four chunky steel control pedals at his feet, and an otherwise unadorned master systems display panel beneath his viewscreen.  The Gunner's station had only two pedals, and a more specialized targeting panel, but also possessed dual control sticks within easy grasping range of both hands.

The cabin felt only slightly cramped due to the General's presence.  It was designed to accommodate battlefield commanders should the need arise.

Hutch braced himself as the vehicle lurched to a stop.

The Mark VII Long-Range Rail Accelerated piercing artillery support Cannon, or L-RAC, was an unusually beefy land vehicle. 
The mobile self-propelled gun was dwarfed only by its rare and monstrous cousin, the Assault purposed 'A-RAC.'

Mark VIIs were effectively windowless hexagonal metallic prisms with four underslung suspension bogies containing tank-like drive treads, and deployable three-foot-thick titanium stability struts on compressible rams. 

Their main, and most obvious feature, was their enormous dual-barreled rail cannon.  The fantastically-sized metal tubes were widest at their base, narrowing to a smaller point before flaring into enormous twin angled muzzle guards at the end.

The weapon was so long, that while it was rear-mounted, it stuck out nearly another vehicle's length when stowed horizontally.

The base of the cannon was attached to a rotating hexagonal pyramid turret with one hundred fifty millimeter thick composite armor, comparable to the mid-class side armor of the hull itself.

The forward edge of the Mark VII was studded with an array of protected and hardened sensing instruments that took the place of traditional windows and scopes.  To the rear, a protected satellite uplink antenna allowed for remote data transfer.

Hutch raised an eyebrow, and sat back into his auxiliary jump seat, peering down once more at the terrain hologram, and the square icons residing on its surface that indicated his vehicle, as well as the other five L-RACs, and two escort tanks in the convoy.

The vehicle's commander flipped his headset microphone into ready position.  Hutch reached beside his seat and snatched a wireless headset for himself.  Despite the vehicle's incredibly thick armor and kinetic damping layers, the noise of firing still reached a hundred and fifty decibels within the compartment.

Ear protection was not just for communication.  It was to prevent hearing loss.

The Commander spoke as he reached out and flicked a heavyset switch behind a pulldown safety interlock above him, "Deploying struts."

Outside, the pneumatically powered rods on each wheel bogey began to gracefully extend, while the track carriages themselves locked into place via a series of thick steel umbilical bolts, and shock absorbers.

When the struts reached the ground, a series of pneumatic pulses drove the feet several inches into the topsoil firmly rooting the L-RAC in place.

After several moments of silence in the cabin, lit by the eerie green touchscreen and holographic instrumentation glow, the Gunner spoke.  Her lilting and peaceful Indian accent belied the fury and havoc of her trademark skills, "All other vehicles report;  Ready to fire on command."

Hutch nodded, and reached out to pinch the terrain hologram, pulling his hands apart to zoom out the view until he could see the target on the scope, "Enable Sat-vision uplink.  Connect me to the air-wing."





The Northrop/Boeing Dynamics FA-26 'Scythe' was the mainstay VsTOL attack fighter of the Earthgov Air Corps. Lesser known, rarer, and more seldom used was its beefier counterpart, the FB-26  'Scimitar.'

Scimitars lacked VsTOL capability due to their added weight, and sported a bulkier midsection than a Scythe.  Otherwise their airframes were effectively identical to the two-seater version of the FA-26.

With six external hardpoints, two irising stealth-enabled missile launch tubes, and a mid-sized fast-cycling bomb bay, an FB-26 could carry enough smart munitions to level an area equal to the square mileage of Manhattan to dust in less than twelve seconds.

Attack Wing 'Kestrel' out of Fort Bragg North Carolina, was comprised of eight FB-26 craft.

"Kestrel Lead, assault control.  Status?"

The RIO of the lead aircraft tapped the 'COMM' holo-toggle on the left side of his display, "Kestrel 1;  We're Angels-Ten and fourteen miles out.  Time-to-target is one point two mikes.  Requesting weapons-free authorization."

Hutch's voice filtered through the sixteen headsets once more, "Permission to engage is granted.  You are ordered to expend *all* main ordinance on the target zone with extreme prejudice, and pacify any surviving ground assistance with remaining supplementary armament."

The RIO nodded, and tapped the rear of his pilot's seat, "Computer;  Disengage warhead safeties.  Authorization Sierra One, One, Two, Charlie."  As he spoke, the man nudged open the cover of the 'MSTR ARM' switch, and depressed the toggle.

The Pilot did the same with her own safety interlock, speaking as she did so, "Computer;  Disengage warhead safeties, and arm all payloads.  Authorization Sierra, Two, Five, One, Tango."

The Computer beeped twice, and spoke in a deep masculine voice, "Safeties released.  Wing-hardpoint warheads armed.  Bomb-bay warheads armed.  Warhead AI engaged.  Diagnostics complete.  All weapons ready to deploy."

The RIO shrugged, "The HLF seems to think pretty highly of Humanity.  Let's see if we can remind them how 'creative' we can be with shit that goes boom."





The HLF compound in Syracuse had done its best to benefit from several years of peace and quiet in the uninhabited New York wilderness.

The installation was one of the primary compounds used by the Front to backstop it's East-Coast North Amerizone operations.  Built under the ruins of an old Air National Guard base, the facility was ensconced under two hundred feet of granite, steel, and kinetic-absorption alloy armor with backscatter stealth coating.

HLF command had been assured that the facility would never be located.  Assurance had led to sloppiness.

While the Front possessed contacts and technology allowing them to detect incoming stealth-equipped fighters, none of the systems were in use, for the sake of power consumption.  The mistake proved utterly fatal.

Kestrel-I released all six of it's external bombs in swift succession.  Designed for multiple roles, the warheads were each equipped with toroidal steering fins, LIDAR guidance scanners, and independent AI.  Each was programmed to search for targets of opportunity as they approached the ground.  The hope was that each warhead would find a soft target by making its decision as late as possible.

The first two warheads found no targets.  The concussion of their twin detonations did little to the compound below.

The remaining four bombs, however, swiftly located the camouflaged exit hatches for the facility's anti-air weaponry.

Each shell impacted with a four kiloton explosion that instantly immolated it's target.

The Syracuse compound was now devoid of countermeasures capable of dissuading the FB-26 squadron from it's mission.

As an air-raid alarm began to sound, and personnel rushed to seal blast doors, the rest of Kestrel squadron unleashed its entire payload simultaneously.

While aiming for a decent spread, given that Earthgov Intelligence did not know the exact dimensions of the base, nearly two-thirds of the warheads were concentrated on what Hutch guessed to be the exact center of the compound.

The General guessed well.

One hundred twenty two warheads slammed into the earth and detonated simultaneously.  Forty two four-kiloton shells from wing hardpoints, and eighty quarter-megaton thermionic-fusion devices.

In one gigantic expanding wall of pure nuclear light, sound, and air compression, the combined detonation shook the earth with a 6.7 magnitude quake, and produced a twenty-five mile air-burst equivalent to several hundred Hiroshima bombs.

While the detonations did very little to damage the compound itself, the quake they triggered caused instantaneous and critical damage to form in the facility's armor as the Earth buckled and twisted in the throes of seismic fury.

Eighteen four meter gouges formed in the metal, along with a host of deep running smaller cracks in the shock-absorption layer beneath.

High above, Kestrel-I's RIO smiled, and spoke into his headset, "Ground Command, Kestrel-one-one; Payload delivered.  No resistance spotted.  The meat is tenderized."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"I don't understand..."  Fyrenn cocked his head as the words escaped his beak in a nearly-inaudible monotone.

He shifted slightly to allow IJ, Skye, and Kephic to peer out of the oblong rock fissure, and down into the cavern below.  The group's hiding spot was little more than an ancient maintenance tunnel, long since abandoned.  As a consequence, space was once again quite scarce.

IJ tensed visibly, "This...  Makes no sense."  Kephic raised an eyebrow inquisitively.  IJ shifted uncomfortably, and gestured slightly with one hoof.  Fyrenn gazed once more into the central cavern in continued astonishment.

Spread out hundreds of feet below, stretching out for six hundred yards in all directions, was an immense void in the rock.  The floor was populated alternately with dark angular crystalline structure, and swarms upon swarms of Changeling Drones.

The red Gryphon silently did a head-count and arrived at the exact, and staggering, number;  Two million four hundred and eighty seven thousand six hundred and ninety eight.

Under the dim green lighting of bioluminescent fluid trapped in crystal globes, the majority of the wakeful worker drones were shoring up the main supports of the cavern, and the crystalline structures that dotted the floor.  Most of the younger drones, and those dedicated to other roles, were huddling inside the structures, as if seeking protection.

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he inhaled slowly, "They look...  Almost as if they're expecting some sort of attack."

IJ shook her head slowly, "No.  Not an attack.  A disaster.  My only memory of anything similar was during an earthquake that occurred shortly after I was spawned.  The construction drones built redoubts like those for us to hide in during the aftershocks."

Varan cocked his head slightly, "Then this Hive is not preparing for an attack, but rather some sort of cataclysm?"

The white Pegasus flared her wings reflexively in frustration, and glared, "We don't know that for certain.  We have no way of finding out either."

Skye inclined her head, "Wellll...  That's not entirely true."

IJ glowered, Carradan winced, but the Gryphons all perked up in their own unique fashion.  Fyrenn spoke first, "Go on..."

The Unicorn avoided eye contact, "It's just a theory.  But it might be possible for me to break into the Hive using IJ.  The Hive mind I mean."

IJ squirmed in a circle until she had revolved one hundred and eighty degrees to face Skye, "Do you have even the first clue as to how dangerous your proposal is?  If the attempt at connecting does not shatter your mind into a million pieces, then the Queen will almost *certainly* detect us, and we will all die as a consequence!"

Skye glowered, "What?  You don't think I can fool a glorified pony-shaped insect?"  The words elicited a similarly piercing expression from IJ, but the tan Unicorn forged ahead unimpeded, "We can't afford to let this just lie.  We need to know what those coded letters meant.  Somewhere, sometime, somehow, we know there is going to be an attack..."

IJ waved her hoof dismissively, "I'm not disagreeing with that.  But I think you're underestimating just how much we 'glorified insects' can sting."

Skye snorted, her gaze unwavering, "You have a better idea?  For that matter, do you have an alternate idea of *any* description?"

IJ paused, her glare turning into a sour scowl.  After a tense moment of silence, she shook her head slowly, "No."

Fyrenn sighed, and stared down into the cavern, speaking in a low but firm undertone, "We can't leave here without answers.  Too many lives are at stake, and we don't have time to get this intel any other way."

He arched his head over his back, and fixed Skye and Stan with his gaze by turns, "Neither of you need go any further.  This is inching closer and closer to a suicide mission by the minute, and that's not what you signed up for."

Skye chuckled, a wry note creeping into her voice as one eyebrow shot up, "You three?  Alone?  Down here?  For starters, I'm the only Unicorn here, and possibly the only Unicorn *anywhere* who has the know-how to break into the Hive Mind and download thoughts."

She chuckled softly, "More importantly?  Three Gryphons underground?  Three *male* Gryphons?  Your collective sense of direction is about on par with the IQ of a parsnip down here.  Even if you survived whatever cockamamie plan you'd manage to cobble together, you'd never figure out how to get back to the surface."

Varan tilted his head slightly, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly, "Though I agree with your first argument, and while subterranean environments do make us uncomfortable, I assure you they have no negative impact whatsoever on our sense of direction, nor our capacity for eidetically remembering---"

Kephic cleared his throat softly, grinning at his brother all the while, "It was a joke."

The golden Gryphon froze, then shook his head slowly, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his beak, "Ah."

Carradan ruffled his wings uncomfortably, his feathers chafing against the rough rock walls of the tube, "So...  Can we just get this over with already?  I'm a sky dweller too ya know.  I don't like it down here any more than the featherbrains do."

Fyrenn nodded firmly, and turned one eye towards IJ, "You know this place better than any of us ever could.  Where do we start and how do we maximize our chances, however slim, of getting out of here in one living breathing piece?"

The blue and white Pegasus grunted in a brief show of contention, then gestured with one hoof and began to speak in a clear-cut monotone, "See that outcropping?"





"I wanna go on record right now; this is a bad, bad, *bad* plan, and you should all feel bad."

In response to Carradan's whispered tirade, Fyrenn shot him a piercing expression that was two parts warning, and one part good-natured admonishment.  The red Gryphon swiveled his head back to the edge of the rock outcropping.

As he maintained his careful vigil over the cavern, he responded in the lowest tone his syrinx could produce.  The sound was many octaves below what most creatures could perceive, but he knew Stan's acute Equine hearing was up to the task, "It's going to be a bad, bad, bad *day* for all of us if your chattering brings a drone over here.  And then you'd feel bad."

Carradan rolled his eyes, and settled into the onerous task of lying perfectly still and quiet, with nothing more than four inches of shale separating him from the largest conglomeration of Changelings within hundreds of miles.

Several meters to the right, just out of safe talking range, Kephic and Varan were similarly ensconced in a perch of IJ's choosing.  Both of the groups were tasked with a small but vital component of the plan.

Creating an opportune distraction.





"Before we do this... "  IJ turned to bring Skye into her peripheral vision as she spoke.

The Unicorn snorted, "You're really going to ask me if I can handle this?  Again?  I was pulping Human countermeasure AI's in my spare time before you even knew what *Earth* was."

IJ spared a single moment to fix her companion with a vicious glare, "Before we do this," she grit the words out as if she were spitting nails, "I want to warn you that simple disruption is not enough.  You will have to continue to produce a mimicry of the Drone's mental imprint---"

Skye rolled her eyes, "Or the Queen will notice that there's a gap in the Hive?  No!  Really?!  That had *never* occurred to me.  Especially not after you gave such a vivid description of 'growing-up-drone.' "

The Pegasus sighed, "When dealing with Changelings, an abundance of caution is the most prudent course.  Trust me.  I have some experience with this."

The Unicorn inclined her head slightly, the sarcasm dropping away from her voice and her expression alike, "Yeah...  I guess I can't really blame you for being on pins and needles here."

By way of response, IJ gestured with one hoof towards their quarry.  The Pegasus had been watching the Drone for several minutes, and noticed that its pattern of activity was likely going to bring it to the edge of the cavern.  Away from its compatriots.

Skye tilted her head.  IJ answered the unspoken query with a single nod.

The Unicorn slowly conjured a small spell at the tip of her horn, and held it as silently as she could.  The magic took the form of an exceedingly faint glowing orb of light.  When the time was right, and the Drone was at the farthest point from the Hive, and the closest point to the hidden Gryphons, Skye loosed the bolt.

The nearly-invisible halo of blue light zipped across the intervening space instantly, and took up a position just behind the head of the Drone.

Kephic was in the best position to act on the signal.  The speckled Gryphon moved too swiftly for IJ and Skye to catch more than a glimpse of his crest, as he slung a small pebble of basalt from his perch, and ducked away into hiding as it flew straight and true.

Skye reached out with her magic, squinting as she tried to sense and memorize the imprint the Drone's mind was making in the aether.  She managed to pin down the unique Thaumatic signature just as Kephic's projectile struck the target's skull.

The rock had been meant as nothing more than a lure, and as such the impact barely managed to get the Drone's attention.  But it was enough.

The chitin-covered creature froze, its glittering verdigris gaze instantly fixating on the rock's origin point.  As the Drone began ambling slowly towards Kephic's hiding spot, Skye worked furiously to weave a disruption spell together with a false projection of the Drone's mental imprint.

Ephemeral runes, glowing various shades of white, blue, and cyan, began to weave their way around her horn as she locked her eyes on the back of the Drone's head.

Just as the Changeling reached the edge of Kephic's perch, Skye finished knitting together the instructions for her magic.

Skye's spell flew at the back of the Drone's head, in the form of a glittering bolt of blue and green energies.  The Thaumatic charge arrived nearly two seconds before Kephic's fisted claw.  By the time the force of the Gryphon's limb has rendered the Drone unconscious, his link to the hive had been nearly as scrambled as his wits, and his skull armor.

For a protracted moment of silence, no one moved.  Skye herself was not entirely sure that her impromptu spell had functioned as intended, and no one was eager to reveal themselves and test the validity of her theories too recklessly.

After nearly half a minute, Fyrenn finally lost patience and leapt silently over the rock that comprised his cover.  He darted across the gravelly floor of the chamber with absolute silence, slung the Drone over one shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and loped back to safety.

The red Gryphon finished laying the unconscious insect out on its back just as Skye, IJ, Kephic, and Varan arrived.

Carradan chuckled grimly, "I gotta admit, I wasn't real sure that was gonna work."

Skye exhaled in relief, "You and me both."

IJ squinted in concern, "There is no cause for celebration yet.  The harder task is still to come."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

Hutch sat back, and tapped one finger against the holotank as he turned to the L-RAC's commander, "Begin the primary assault.  No weapons-holds, no quarter.  Keep cycling until we're fresh out of shells."

The man nodded, and spoke into his headset as he swiveled his seat to face the holotank, "All vehicles;  Access Sat-Vision five and set target co-ordinates based on overflight data.  Range for high-arc trajectory, time weapon release for synchronic impacts."

The Gunner nodded, and pushed a lock of hair away from one ear as she grasped her left control toggle, "Ranging for acute angle impact.  Synchronizing fire with formation.  Computer has selected high-density tungsten/depleted uranium shells for the initial volley.  I concur.  Permission to release interlocks?"

The commander swiveled back to his console, "Permission granted.  Prepare to disengage safety interlocks.  Please insert your firing key, and place your thumb on the biometric scanner."  As he spoke, the man performed the requested actions himself, removing a small semi-transparent chip from a chain around his neck, and sticking it into a slot.

Both officers placed their thumbs on identical panels on the cabin's opposite walls, and placed their free hands on the stubs of their keys.

The commander counted down, "At this time, 01:50 zulu, I am authorizing weapons release as per our orders, and pursuant to Earthgov directive twenty-nine-A.  Computer;  Please verify orders by Stratcom uplink and engage biometric access system."

"Permissive Action Link established.  Orders verified.  Access system is online.  Verifying biometric data...  Verified.  Please turn your keys."

The Commander inclined his head, "Three. Two.  One.  Initiate."  The officers turned their keys in tandem, and the computer let out a three-toned klaxon, "Warning!  Safety interlocks are now disengaged.  Cannon live.  Rounds loaded."

The Commander turned back to the holotank, and nodded at the gunner, "Lock gun bearing.  Twenty degrees positive yaw rotation, seventy-point-five-two-six degrees positive gun depression, four inch barrel extension.  Set guards to precision fire mode, and cycle heat sinks."

The Gunner depressed several keys with one hand, peering intently at the data overlaid onto her scope.  The device was positioned at eye-level such that she could easily lean into it, or pull back to see her console.  She smiled, "Bearing locked.  Heat sinks cycled.  Computer reports diagnostic complete.  Ready to fire."

Hutch grinned, "I always did love a good fireworks show."

"Fire!" The commander could not resist performing a traditional forward charge motion with his right arm.

The Gunner flicked up the hat switch on her joystick, and rammed her index finger into the trigger.

Even through the electronic aural-cancellation, and compression-based acoustic mufflers of the headphones, the noise was as deafening as the thunder of the apocalypse.

The guns of the L-RAC firing line spoke out in sequence.  Each artillery unit fired one after the other, right barrel followed within a half-second by left-barrel, with a single second in-between vehicle firing times.

Each of the four-set of magnetic rails energized, powered by the massive banks of capacitors, themselves filled by the vehicles' onboard dual high-tension fusion reactors.  

Under the insistence of the 'right hand rule' twelve identical seventeen ton magnetic-cored, tungsten-sheathed, depleted uranium rounds peeled away from the L-RACs at over two hundred and thirty times the speed of sound.

While capable of lofting only smaller shells in comparison to an A-RAC, L-RACs could configure to impart spin to their projectiles in such a way as to maximize accuracy and impact speed.  The most incredible feature, however, was their range.

A Standard A-RAC could hit a target with reasonable accuracy half a continent away, a fire range just short of the guns on Earthgov naval vessels.  An L-RAC, by contrast, could loft a shell across an entire hemisphere in a pinch.  And once the metal chunk impacted, it would pierce far more armor than virtually any other weapon ever devised.

The twelve initial shells in the L-RAC volley landed with almost the same force as the preceding bomber run.  The critical difference, however, was that the force was maintained as kinetic energy for several seconds as the rounds passed through granite, and the cracked barrier shield of the base, like an AP pistol shell through a watermelon.

When the ordinance finally encountered the meat of the base, it lost ninety percent of its kinetic energy, dispersing it in the form of Rayleigh waves into the structure, an air-burst, and several immense explosions.

The glassed surface-crater produced by the tactical nuclear bombing rippled from the sub-surface energy, registering as another major earthquake, and setting off smaller un-felt aftershocks as far away as South Carolina.

Abandoned rail tunnels, mine shafts, and forgotten bunkers within a five hundred mile radius collapsed violently as the shockwave reached them, and liquefied their aging pre-winnowing supports.

Back in Syracuse, the barrage continued unabated for nearly three hours, at a rate of fifty one shells per minute.  By the time all nine thousand one hundred and eighty rounds were exhausted, the HLF compound's entire defensive layer had been reduced to scattered glowing glass shards.

Where once had stood an abandoned air base, surrounded by petrified trees, now stood an immense miles-wide smooth glass crater that was nearly a half mile deep at its center, pockmarked with entry wounds the size of city blocks that belched forth acrid red and orange smoke.

The pale half-light of a full moon just barely pierced the iron sky to cast a dingy gray luminance on the lower levels of the HLF base, suddenly raw and exposed like damaged tissue, twisted into a hellish pretzel beneath the compacted slag of everything that had once rested above.





"Do you suppose any of them are left alive?"  Klarien let out a long, slow breath as he stared towards the soft glow of the burning base on the horizon.

Taranis rumbled deep in his chest as he removed the safeties from his weaponry, "If any of the opposition survived, they will soon wish they had not."

The cobalt Dragon lifted a single claw, and waved it forward.  The assembled craft in the clearing began to hum and whine with the collective spooling of multiple engines.

The five APCs and two VTOLs were mostly on site for prisoner transport, and to deploy data mining specialists once the remainder of the compound had been secured.  Klarien personally doubted there would be anything left for them to hack. 
He was well aware of the sheer destructive force of an artillery strike.

Led by the two armored reptiles, the strike team set off to finish their grim task.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

Carradan sighed, and shifted for what seemed like the thousandth time, "I still don't get why she has to bridge them.  Why doesn't she just reach into that thing's mind and take what we need?"

Skye spoke in an edgy monotone, without turning, focused almost entirely on her task, "Because the Gryphons are magic-immune, and you and I don't have the brain structure to cope with the Hive mind.  IJ does.  Doesn't matter what Celestia did to her body proper;  Her mind is the same as it's always been.  Now if you don't shut your muzzle and let me work?  I'll fry *your* brain like a haycake."

Stan raised an eyebrow and glanced at Fyrenn, silently mouthing, 'Can she do that?'

Fyrenn shrugged his wings, and placed a single talon to his beak in a shushing gesture.  Silence reigned once more, save for the nigh-imperceptible chime-like sound of Skye's magic.  Her horn had become the apex of an arc of light bridging IJ's unconscious form, and that of the Drone.

Kephic grunted, "I wonder what it's like..."

Varan shook his head slowly, "I do not.  I doubt that it is, in any way, pleasant."





Most of the time the Hive was a series of voices, images, and miscellaneous sounds that tugged at the back of the brain incessantly, coming forward into the center of consciousness when a piece of information or a specific link was summoned.

It was, however, possible for a Changeling to disconnect from their external senses and perceive the Hive as a space within their consciousness, through an imitation of the five senses.

Using Skye's mental bridge, IJ was doing just that, via the unlucky target Drone's link to the Hive.  The use of its own link, combined with Skye's imitation of its mental footprint, would hopefully fool the Hive-Queen into ignoring the queries IJ was about to make.

She took a few slow steps forward, and allowed the nascent stream of whispers to wash over her.  The words projected themselves as hieroglyphs in the air around her;  A glowing stream of ancient language stretching out into the infinite blackness in every direction.

In a few places, images and blurry colored amorphous representations of emotional ebb and flow were ensconced within the data streams.

Tentatively, IJ reached out a hoof and tapped one of the streams, linking her thoughts in the guise of the Drone's to the Hive at large.

Abruptly, the whispers decreased in volume, and a smaller subset of voices and sounds leapt to the forefront.  Corresponding with the aural change, several images and glyph streams expanded to fill the air in a sphere around the Pegasus, shouldering out the other data to the horizon in the process.

IJ's first indication that something was wrong came in the form of a telling absence.  Given the swarm of activity within the central chamber, the Hive should have been so abuzz with information on the current situation, that it would have been impossible to avoid it, let alone difficult to find it.

Yet, IJ could find no mention whatsoever of the reason for the Razor Spires Hive's odd behavior in the top layers of thought.

She debated pulling away.  Something was clearly wrong.  But in the end, she opted to push just a few layers down.  The chatter within the swarm was immense;  Surely the Queen wouldn't take notice of such simple queries.

She knew the instant she made the connection, that all was lost.

"You have erred.  Most gravely.  And your error shall be my crowning triumph."

As the words echoed through her skull with grim certainty, and frustratingly justified arrogance, IJ shivered in fear.  And made peace with her impending death.
> Chapter 17
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

"I don't like the feel of this.  Something is very wrong here."  Neyla tightened her grip on the rifle clutched in her claws, and shifted slightly to get a better sight picture.

"I'dve certainly expected to see guards or lookouts.  But thermal scans aren't showing anything warmer than exterior floodlights.  We can't pierce the compound walls though.  They're lined with heavy insulation."  Sorven's voice contained a telling hint of nervous concern that carried, even through a headset.

As much as the General had wanted to accompany the strike force, orders from above had chained her firmly to the Blue Ridge CIC for the duration of the mission.

Neyla swept the exterior of the compound once more with her gaze.  The building had once been some sort of shipping warehouse.  It was little more than a dull gray, three story tall, duracrete block with thin, slatted one-way windows.  

The facility was situated on a street corner with roads on two sides, and apartment buildings forming alleyways against the remaining walls.  There were only three points of entry;  A large vehicle bay facing one street, and two personnel access doors on each of the alleyway sides.

Neyla and her strike team were covering the vehicle bay door.  Identical strike teams were positioned within range of the alleyway doors.  All three teams consisted of a pair of Gryphons, one commander and one sniper, running point for seven Humans in heavy urban combat armor.

Less than four blocks to the south, a forward command center had been established where two light VTOLs and a gaggle of medics waited to treat any potential casualties.  Four long range surveillance drones launched from the Blue Ridge were stationed a mile up and out, keeping tabs on the target with LADAR and thermal sensors.

Last, but not least in Neyla's estimation, a three-block perimeter had been cordoned off with JRSF humvees, support snipers, smaller quadcopter drones, and a pair of military Police VTOLs.  Command had no intention of allowing any stragglers to escape, and potentially cause havoc in the process.

"If you want to wait for more troops, or rethink the entry plan, just say the word."  

Sorven's words gave Neyla almost a full second of pause, during which she considered the alternative options.  If her teams held their positions until breaching vehicles arrived, it would give the HLF time to prepare their defenses.

Worse;  The breaching action itself would likely lead to a firefight with heavy weapons at the entrances to the warehouse.  The Gryphoness preferred the idea of confining the fighting to the interior of the structure.  Small arms would be the primary weapon of choice, and there was less chance of explosive ordnance detonating on allied troopers in tight spaces, or worse, a misfire striking a civilian structure and causing loss of innocent life.

"We go now.  Commanders first, followed by fire-support troopers.  Sniper line of sight is to be maintained at all times.  Breach in twelve seconds as of this mark.  Remember;  This is strictly a kill operation.  Waste no time in taking prisoners, and spare no shots."

Two successive clicks on the radio confirmed that the other commanders had heard and understood the orders.

Neyla silently counted down the requisite intervals of time, edging closer and closer to the lip of her roof-borne perch.  At the nine second mark, she silently spread her wings, and swooped down from the roof at maximum speed.  She flared and arrived just short of the vehicle bay at the same moment as her squad.

The Gryphoness gestured silently, and leveled her RAC at the door.  Three troopers took up position on each side of the aperture, while the seventh moved to the center and placed a charge.  He shouldered his RPG and stepped back behind Neyla to allow her a line of fire.

As the dim blue three second holographic display ticked down on the breaching ordinance, Neyla cast a furtive look over one shoulder to confirm that her sniper was positioned and ready.  She didn't know the gray and silver Gryphon particularly well, but she had been told he was an expert shot even by Gryphic standards.

The small brick of explosives went up with a muffled thump, taking a large chunk of the door inward on its shaped concussion wave.  Neyla raised her weapon and dove headlong through the still-smoking gap.

As she juked her wings to stay several feet off the ground, her ears twitched involuntarily.  She detected audiological cues indicating the other two strike teams had made their entries as well.

The Gryphoness tucked, rolled, and came up prepared to fire.  To her surprise, she found that she was facing nothing more than a dimly lit, largely empty concrete loading bay.

She swept one hundred and eighty degrees with her RAC, then tapped her headset with a single left talon, "Report."

"No resistance in western sections."

"All quiet, north side."

Neyla grunted, and took several more short steps forward, "Proceed with caution.  Slowly and steadily.  Stay together as groups."

She made several abrupt gestures with her free claw, before returning it to the forward grip of her rifle.  Behind her, the seven heavy troopers fanned out in perfect and silent coordination, taking up positions behind the meager spots of cover afforded by stray crates and shipping pallets.

For her part, the Gryphoness edged forward on her hind legs, the pads on her paws deadening every last decibel of potential noise as she inched steadily towards the doors on the far end of the loading bay.

The first resistance finally materialized as she reached the lip of concrete where trucks came to rest to disgorge their cargo.  As she prepared to vault onto the raised platform, a figure materialized in the doorway above.  Working mainly on instinct, Neyla adjusted her aim and fired a shot directly though the upper plate of the man's helmet before he could even act.  As his form crumpled to the floor, the Gryphoness noted two disturbing facts.

Firstly, the man was clad neither in the beige plating of an HLF soldier, nor in the cobbled together detritus of a Follower.  His armor was polished, reflective, unmarked, and pure white.  Secondly, there was a large silver cylinder clutched in his left hand.  The oblong device was clearly filled with potion, and with a jolt Neyla realized that the arming pin had already been pulled.  She spied it clutched in the trooper's right fist as it fell open.

"Back, BACK!  Seal your hardsuits and evacuate the building!" Neyla didn't bother to suppress the volume of the order; their presence had clearly already been detected.

The sudden advent of the PER threatened to completely sour the operation.  Her troops were equipped to the fight the HLF, and as a result their suits were geared for maximum blast and impact protection, at the expense of true hermetic sealing capabilities.

No sooner had the command left her beak, than the cylinder rolled off the loading dock, detonating in front of her as it sailed through the air towards the ground.

She took a swift, sharp lungful of pure air before the lurid purple cloud enveloped her.  While the potion itself posed no danger to a Gryphon, the sedative mixed with it was capable of knocking one out in large enough concentrations.  Breathing it constantly at the epicenter of a dense, noxious, cloud that was meant to spread out over an entire building, would probably introduce enough to her system to throw off her aim and reaction times.

She began backing up as swiftly as a bipedal stance allowed, covering the door with her RAC and casting furtive glances over her shoulder at her troops.

Most of the troops had bolted for the exit on her order, activating the gas-resistant stopgap seals in their armor once they were clear.  Since they were equipped with the urban pacification variants of their gear, the sealant function was a temporary emergency measure that often resulted in a severe degradation in agility and combat effectiveness.

The premise was simple;  Tiny gel packs tucked away ringing every air-permeable joint.  When the appropriate command was sent from the wrist panel of the suit's arm gauntlet, the packs would be ruptured, spilling quick-hardening rubberized foam into all external openings.

The countermeasure had become standard on all non-sealed suits, mainly as a result of the PER's preferred gas-attack tactics.

"Pulling back!  Four hostiles on west side.  All PER."

Neyla tapped her radio twice in acknowledgement.  As she approached the exit door, she saw that one of her troopers had panicked and triggered his sealant too early.  His joints were nearly completely frozen, and he was swiftly becoming a prisoner inside his own armor.

Without breaking her stride, Neyla spun to face the man, using one claw to attach her rifle to the hard point between her wings, while using the other to get a head start on lifting the soldier.

Altogether the trooper was quite heavy, but Neyla didn't need to loft him fully into the air.  She merely needed to drag him out into the open, where natural air currents would dissipate the oncoming potion cloud, allowing the suit to keep it at bay.

As Neyla got a grip on the man's shoulder plates, and began to haul him towards the door, the leading edge of the cloud billowed out on a random air current, bathing them both in a shower of purple droplets.

Moving as quickly as she could under the circumstances, Neyla snagged a small gray box from the soldier's belt, and slapped it against the chestplate of his suit.  She simultaneously depressed the two safety locks on either side of the oblong object, and stood well back.

As the trooper fell to the floor, the capsule on his chest erupted into a transparent mist, which clung to his suit like an aura.  As quickly as it had manifested, the vapor de-sublimated into an amber-like solid crystal cocoon that completely engulfed the soldier, and his armor.

Crystallization was the definitive final countermeasure against unwanted potion;  Easily dispensed, and impermeable to nanites, gasses, and liquids, with the exception of a specialized dissolving agent.  

The substance also had the advantage of slowing metabolic processes when absorbed through the skin, and retarding Thaumatic radiation naturally. Sometimes it was even possible to use Crystallization to save someone who had already received a dosage of potion.  If the affected limb, or limbs, could be entirely engulfed, the metamorphosis would be suspended.  The areas could then be amputated, and replacements grown in nanosurgically using the victim's own stem cells.

Once she was sure the Crystallization process was complete, Neyla got back to the task of hauling the trooper out of the building, pausing only briefly to check the loading bay door for signs of further hostiles.

The moment the Gryphoness reached the exit, she delivered the soldier into the care of his compatriots.  She opened her nostrils once more, drinking in the uncontaminated night air. 

She lost no time in contacting General Sorven, "We have a complication.  This facility has been overrun with PER, and they've detonated at least one potion bomb."

"PER? What the *hell* would they be doing here...?  You're sure?"  Sorven's voice betrayed little, but Neyla thought she sensed a tiny hint of panic on the fringe of the high notes.

"I don't think the what, or the why, is of any particular consequence at this point.  One of my troopers almost inhaled a room full of potion gas, and my armor now has a light purple paint coat.  If you have a better definition of 'sure?' I'd be happy to defer to your judgement."

There was a pause as Sorven considered potential options.  At last, she spoke.  Neyla could make out the sounds of hurried conversations and alarms in the background, "We'll go to contingency Alpha three.  Human and Equine troops evacuating the locals while you meet up with the fire team leaders, and snipers, and form a new breach squad."

Neyla nodded, in spite of the fact that there was no video link, "I agree.  Do you have a recommended point of entry?"

After another, shorter pause during which Sorven was doubtless checking drone telemetry, the General's voice returned to her earpiece, "It looks like the north entrance was more lightly guarded than the others, so that's likely a trap.  The vehicle bay isn't ideal, and the team on the west side met with heavy resistance, so chances are that's their weakest flank.  I'm diverting an APC to you with air-recycling helmet attachments, and field Crystallization kits."

Neyla turned back to face the warehouse, and glowered, "The sooner this is over, the less likely there will be any innocent victims..."  She paused and cocked her head, before continuing, "The risks are worth it now.  Send the heavy ordinance too."





"The north quadrant is under assault!  Sierra Two-Five-Seven requesting immediate backup!  IS ANYONE RECEIVING!?  AAAUUUUGH---"

Taranis didn't offer the soldier a chance to finish his desperate plea.  Casting aside the shattered remains of the man, and his crumpled armor, the great blue reptile resumed his steady pace down the corridor.

The base was a twisted and confusing wreck.  Hallways had been warped into disjointed shapes that would have been more at home in a  funhouse than a military installation.  As he approached a junction, Taranis was forced to contort nearly at a ninety degree angle just to access the adjoining corridor.

Klarien had long since split away to cover his own route.  There were only two Dragons, and there was a very great deal of territory to cover.  The Human troops could only push so far into the base before they risked becoming stranded, and eventually irradiated, should the structure fail entirely.

That left Taranis entirely to his own devices.  Which was exactly how he preferred it.

He grunted in satisfaction as the corridor widened slightly, affording him the opportunity to turn should he need to.  He allowed a small amount of tension to flow out of his muscles, and began devoting some thought to determining his location.

Now that the main strike was over, Command's primary concern was determining if anything of value had been left intact, particularly anything that might provide useful intelligence such as data drives, or commanding officers.

Most of the survivors the Dragon had encountered were clearly technicians, or guards.  Men and women who were fractured, frightened, wounded, mildly irradiated, and had clearly received no warning before the assault hit.

Resistance was not proving to be cohesive, and Taranis took that to mean that no commanding officers were left alive.

He rounded the corner to find himself snout-to-snout with his protégé.  Klarien's scales had an almost sickly luminous quality in the light of the dying electrical fires that punctuated the structure at frequent intervals.

Taranis raised one scale cluster above his right eye, "I gather our work is finished?"

Klarien grinned and nodded, hefting a small dented silvery brick in one claw, "Most of the server room was ashes.  Nothing else survived, but this data drive looked moderately intact so I figured;  Why not?"

The blue Dragon nodded, and turned to go back the way he had come.  As Klarien fell into step behind him, Taranis voiced a toneless question, "Did you encounter any significant resistance on your way down?"

Klarien hissed.  The sound came off like a mixture of manic chuckling and a satisfied exhalation, "As I said;  Nothing else survived."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"This is bad...  This is so very very bad!"  The panic in Carradan's voice was evident.  The only other sound in the cavern was the whisper of dry, rustling, insectoid wings.

Stan and Kephic stood back to back over the prone form of IJ, while Fyrenn and Varan stood guard over Skye.  The brave little Unicorn had slipped abruptly into unconsciousness nearly a minute before.  That had been the first indication that everything had gone horribly, unconscionably, fatally, wrong.

The second, and far more grave sign of impending doom had come in the form of millions of Drones.  It seemed to Fyrenn that the entire Hive had turned out to surround them.  The myriad pairs of glittering pupil-less eyes, shifting iridescent wings, and sharp menacing armor plates produced a skin-crawling sense of horror and menace.

The effect was magnified a thousand fold by the unexpected stillness.  After appearing, and surrounding the companions in ranks a thousand rows deep, the immense force had simply stopped.  All at once, as if on command, they had stiffened to attention and remained rooted to their spots on the floor.

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he tightened his grip on his sword, "Well?!  What are you waiting for?!  Get on with it!"

The only response he received was the sound of nervously shifting Drone wings.

The Red Gryphon scowled in frustration.  Internally, he was already locked in fierce combat with his emotions.  It was one thing to face a foe with vastly superior numbers in a traditional fray. 

It was quite another to suffer through a futile standoff.

Fyrenn shouted, allowing his emotions to boil over into his tone and volume, "COME ON!  Are you all afraid to die FIRST?  Well if you want us, you're going to have to TAKE THE LOSSES!"

"Oh, we do not fear you.  No.  I am simply enjoying your powerlessness."  The voice was deep, rich, female, and it seemed to thrum from within the chest of every Changeling in the cavern simultaneously.

In spite of the way it echoed back and forth from every corner and crevice, the true origin of the voice was obvious.  

The Hive queen was twice as tall as her rank and file drones.  Her neck was extended, her legs were locked in a stiff and commanding position, and her wings were half open, further increasing her perceived presence.

Varan raised his sword, and moved to place his back to Fyrenn.  The pair of Gryphons formed a protective cordon for Skye, their swords, claws, wings, and beaks positioned to defend her prone form to the last.

A few scant yards away, Kephic and Carradan had done the same for IJ.  Fyrenn could see the roiling tumult of fear on the Pegasus' muzzle.  Stan was practically shaking in his armor, and his eyes were darting back and forth like the eyes of a hunted beast with one leg caught in a trap.

But the red Gryphon could see something else in his friend's eyes.  A hardened and steely reserve, made of a potent mixture of anger, the drive to live, and something even more powerful still.  As he spared a final moment to offer the Pony a reassuring glance, Fyrenn noticed that Carradan's eyes kept returning to IJ's crumpled body.

Every time the stocky Pegasus glanced at the thready, shallow rise and fall of her sides, Fyrenn saw a mixture of sadness, and protective resolve.

The salmon Pegasus tried to offer the Gryphon a wan smile, but it came off more as a grimace.  Carradan turned to face the Changelings before him, and tightened his stance, preparing his strong hind legs, and sharp hoofblades.  

Fyrenn exhaled slowly.  He had no doubt that Stanley was going to make his assailants regret any assumptions they were making as a result of his Equine genetics.

He turned to Varan, and managed a half-smile of his own, "Somehow, I always knew I was going to die like this."

The golden Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and Fyrenn managed a full grin in response. 

"Come on.  You know me.  Long odds, bad positioning, and that charming inability to say no to suicidal assignments.  I was never the type to die quietly on a hospital bed."

Varan raised an eyebrow, "Few warriors are."

Fyrenn inclined his head, grit his beak, tightened his claws around his sword, and spread his hind paws slightly to afford him a better defensive stance.

"I'll admit though; I never expected to die three hundred feet underground surrounded by a million angry insects."

His more reserved sibling made similar moves to prepare for the coming onslaught.  Varan's voice remained characteristically nonplussed, "I did.  There is no love lost between our species and theirs, and they have always presented the most cohesive militarized threat to us."

The red Gryphon snorted, "Only you could make impending death sound so clinical."

Varan shrugged his wings slightly, "I find that it helps."

The Gryphons' attempt at pre-battle levity was brought to an abrupt end by a noticeable shift in the ranks of the enemy.  A restlessness swept the cavern, manifesting as a cacophonous scrape and rustle of chitin;  Millions of insectoid forms shifting back and forth simultaneously, as if in nervous anticipation.

The Hive Queen's expression subtly morphed from one of pure triumphal arrogance, to one of disinterested smugness, her hooded gaze piercing the two hundred yards between her, and the invaders, as if it were nothing.

"As much as I enjoy watching you succumb to the futility of the situation, you are more a waste of time than anything else.  Kill them.  Except for the red one.  We will acquire his lifecode first."

Fyrenn glowered, and let out a long, slow hiss, "I'll fall on my own sword before I let you sample my DNA."

The edge of the Queen's muzzle tugged upwards in a macabre parody of a smile, "I would greatly enjoy watching you try."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 18th, Gregorian Calendar

"Three.  Two.  One."  On the final word, Neyla broke cover, bursting through the door, and let loose with her grenade.  The moment the aperture was clear, her companion dived in after her spraying with his assault rifle indiscriminately.

Neither Gryphon was particularly interested in accuracy, they merely needed to gain safe entry to the building, and break the standoff that had been brewing for nearly ten minutes.

Neyla's grenade claimed two targets' lives, despite the haphazard nature of her throw.  The smoke, confusion, noise, and sheer fear-factor of two charging Gryphons bought the other four warriors more than enough time to enter through the door and find firing positions.

As one, all six Gryphons fanned out and began laying down a withering stream of precision fire.  The PER had made the fatal mistake of assuming that their position was secure, and as such they had only allocated Human troopers to the defense of their new outpost.

Despite the absence of more deadly life forms in the enemy lineup, the white-clad troopers still outnumbered the JRSF force by nearly fifteen to one.  

In an external environment, the odds would have been so far in the Gryphons' favor as to be almost laughable.

But in the smothering confines of brick and cinder block corridors, part of their natural advantage was negated.  The results of the battle would therefore be less decisive, should either side err in any way.

As her compatriots held a dozen troopers at bay, pinning them to their cover positions with a staccato hail of rounds, Neyla stopped to secure her rifle.  She latched the weapon into place between her wings, replacing a large black kevlar satchel, which she laid out on the cement in front of her.

Working quickly, the Gryphoness extracted the cold titanium object from within, and swiftly assembled it.  

The device was one of the first products of the JRSF's own newly minted R&D laboratories;  A dark chunky stock filled with a shock absorbing gel layer swooped forward in a series of menacing angles.  The underside of the weapon bore two triggers in close proximity, and the entire assembly ended in a hexagonal bolt-like structure.

Attached to the rotatable hexagon were six squared-off barrels that could have been mistaken for the prongs of a jeep-mounted railgun to an untrained eye.  The ammunition consisted of two octagonal black canisters bound together by a brace, which locked with the centerline of the weapon such that the munitions would be fed into two of the six barrels at once.

Rounding out the weapon was a menacing urban digital camouflage paint scheme, a dull crimson stripe, and a set of iron sights, with a holographic overlay displaying contextual information about remaining rounds and trigger functions.

Neyla levelled the device, and stepped calmly to the forefront of her squad.  In the smoke and gas filled darkness, pierced only by the dimmed headlamps of the PER troopers, her helmet's respirator attachment gave her silhouette an alien and terrifying aspect.

The Gryphoness calmly pulled the primary trigger twice in succession.  The weapon discharged a pair of spinning metallic discs, which flew down the corridor and attached themselves to the first surface they touched using miniature grappling legs.

As she crouched behind a shipping container, Neyla glanced down at the weapon's holodisplay;  Two small pulsing circles indicated that the projectiles had come to rest, and were linked to the weapon's fire control wirelessly.

She held up a fisted claw, and her compatriots stopped firing.  The six Gryphons held their positions with absolute silence, and stillness.  Watching and waiting.

After a minute and a half, seven PER troopers cautiously filtered out of an adjoining passage, and began sweeping the area with their floodlights.  Neyla calmly stood up from behind the container.

As the first trooper in the line noticed her, and began to bring his rifle to bear, Neyla calmly pulled the weapon's second trigger, and held it in.

A pair of perfectly synchronized explosions bloomed forth behind the PER scouts.  Neyla watched, stretching her perception of time to evaluate the precise characteristics of the detonations.

The shockwave propagated first.  It did very little besides throw the enemy soldiers off balance.  Less than a tenth of a second later, the fireball followed accompanied by a second shockwave bearing millions of tiny titanium shards.

The soldiers closest to the detonations were partially vaporized as the fireball sublimated everything from the outer layers of the armor, right down to their bones.

The soldiers furthest away were simply cooked inside their suits, which glowed with a faint red light as they crumpled to the ground.

Neyla shouldered the launcher, and took a deep breath.

She spoke loudly, projecting her voice to be absolutely sure that she was heard by the remaining hostiles, "This is your first, and last opportunity to surrender."

She got her answer in the form of a particle rifle bolt.  As the flickering blue entity zipped towards her head, she calmly tilted herself ever so slightly to the side, allowing it to pass by her left ear with several inches to spare.

She cycled the grenade launcher, and grinned, "I was hoping you would say something like that."





General Sorven raised an eyebrow as the twelfth body bag was wheeled by on a medical gurney.  She ducked around the side of the coroner's van and paused to take stock of the scene spread out before her.

Neyla, and the rest of the Gryphons in her impromptu squad, were standing over a series of absorptive biohazard mats, being washed down with large pressure hoses.  As the water coursed over and between their feathers, dislodging encrusted Potion, blood, and battle detritus, it turned a disgusting shade of purple mixed with ashen gray streaks and red bloody nodules.

The water was absorbed wholly by the white and orange striped mats, which would later be boxed securely for transport to a materials reclamation facility.

Several yards away to the left, row upon row of body bags were being hefted onto gurneys, then loaded into the back of an elongated transport humvee.  

Sorven caught a brief glimpse of the interior of one bag as it was zipped up.  She resisted the urge to wince.  The corpse was barely identifiable as a living bipedal being.

Bookending the somewhat comical sight of soaked, bedraggled Gryphons on one side, and the gut-wrenching image of more than three dozen body bags on the other, was an organized bedlam of troops, medics, biohazard technicians, and Military Policemen.

Blue, white, red, orange, and yellow emergency lights from Police, Military, Medical, and Hazmat vehicles bathed the scene in a mesmerizing effect, not unlike that of a club dance floor.

Thanks to Neyla's swift and decisive command style, there had been no civilian casualties.  Unfortunately, the cost had been wide scale potential contamination of the area.  A fair amount of potion gas had escaped the facility during the battle.  The amethyst colored goop had adhered to everything from car hoods to building walls.

Some spots were completely untouched, others were painted in swaths of purple.  Crystallization teams were focused on the worst affected areas, spraying them until they were coated in several inches of the Potion-annulling, fast-hardening substance.

The next day, dedicated teams of examiners with more precise equipment would come behind them and clear away any residual traces, then a cleanup crew would bring in a dissolving agent to wash the entire inert mess away.

Until then, an area nearly four blocks square was on total lockdown, and had been forcibly evacuated, sending a stream of dazed and upset citizens to the nearest hotels and emergency shelters.

Sorven turned reflexively at the sound of a metallic surface striking crystal, just in time to witness a soldier emerging from a veritable cocoon of the substance under the ministrations of five technicians with small steel picks.

The man coughed and wretched violently as normal airflow was restored to his lungs, but otherwise seemed grateful and relieved as a pair of medics escorted him to a mobile decon shower.

The general shook her head slowly, and moved to stand beside Neyla as the Gryphoness stepped off her mat, and gratefully accepted an extra-gigantic waffle weave towel from a waiting Pony.

Sorven grinned, "You look pretty miserable when you're this soaked."

Neyla began compressing the towel against each layer of her feathers in turn, trying as best she could to speed the drying process, "It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't so cold here.  I enjoy a nice swim during the summer months."

Sorven jerked her head towards the coroners, who were in the process of loading the final body into the transport, "Did you leave anyone alive for questioning?"

The Gryphoness shook herself, in a manner reminiscent of a cat, then abruptly puffed out the majority of her feathers to afford the frigid night air access to her skin, and the lower layers of fur and feather.

Sorven couldn't help but let out a stifled chuckle.  The normally fierce avian looked like nothing so much as a vastly oversized child's toy.

Neyla glowered, "No, we didn't.  And if you don't stop laughing, you're next."

The general did her best to remain silent, but could not entirely conceal a small grin.  Neyla rolled her eyes and growled, muttering under her breath, "And Humans wonder why we don't like to share the minutiae our private lives with them..."

Sorven sighed, and shook her head once more in a mixture of amazement, amusement, and exhaustion, "Just...  Please try to get dry and presentable before oh-seven-hundred.  Lantry wants you and me at an emergency status briefing aboard Blue Ridge."

Neyla dipped her head, and shook herself once more, flecks of water zipping outwards from her tail fan in brightly colored arcs, "I'm sure I can find a large heated surface, and a meal, before then."

The general nodded, and turned to make her way to the nearest departing VTOL.  She paused, and cast a glance over her shoulder, "Did you even offer them a chance to surrender?"

The Gryphoness tilted her head slightly, "Yes.  I don't think they found my terms fair."

Sorven hummed thoughtfully, and mumbled to herself as she strode towards the VTOL, "I'm sure they'd feel differently now.  If they had anything left resembling a braincase."
> Chapter 18
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"What...  Did you do?"

IJ whirled at the sound of the familiar voice.  Skye's frowning visage was, ironically, something of a welcome sight.

The Pegasus sighed, "I did nothing beyond what we planned.  I warned you this would happen."

Skye snorted and rolled her eyes.

"Oh.  Wonderful.  We're stuck inside the collective headspace of two million angry drones, and one very angry queen...  And your immediate first thought is 'I told you so' ?"

IJ glowered, shifting her wings anxiously, "I am simply answering your question in the same spirit it was asked."

The Unicorn tossed her short mane in frustration, letting out a sharp pent up breath, "What's *that* supposed to mean?"

The ex-Changeling turned away from her fellow prisoner, and began to examine the streams of information whizzing by their heads.

"There is an old Changeling proverb;  When the cavern is collapsing, you do not stop to assign blame.  You first worry about escaping alive."

Skye flattened her ears in an unconscious sign of suppressed fear, and began to make her own examination of the environment. 

"Well this isn't a cavern.  It's a neuro-Thaumatic network.  How are we supposed to disconnect if I'm in here?  For that matter, how did I get here?"

"Because I brought you here."  

The Queen's voice preceded the image of her body by only a split second, but the effect was jarring nonetheless.

Both Ponies tensed visibly, and spun to face the apparition.  The representation smirked, and flared her wings menacingly. 

"Did you think I was merely going to kill you?  Your friends outside seem to think so.  They are fighting, and dying, to defend your corpses, in the vain hope that you will somehow return to them.  No.  Your minds may yet contain useful information.  When I am finished gleaning everything I desire, then I will kill you."

Skye glanced over at IJ, eyes wide. 

"Are your leaders always this arrogant and heavy-hoofed?"

IJ's brow knit, and she stamped her front right hoof in anger.  Her gaze remained locked firmly on the Queen. 

"First;  They are not my leaders anymore.  Second; Is levity really the only coping mechanism you possess?  Thirdly?  Yes.  They are always this arrogant."

"You *insolent* little grub!"  

The Queen reared, and slammed her front hooves into the ground.  The reflective infinite blackness seemed to shatter into millions of glittering triangular pieces that flew outward from an expanding crack.

The fissure forced IJ and Skye to leap back as it passed with a dull rumble.  The Queen lowered her head, and hissed. 

"This will cause you great pain!"

IJ mimicked the gesture, tucking her head down into a combat position. 

"Your mistake.  I like pain.  It reminds me that my mind and body are free."

Skye barely had time to mutter to herself before the combatants engaged with a fury that seemed to shake the world.

"This is such a horrible idea---" 

The initial impact sent out visible shockwaves that shattered the manifestation of the Hive, disrupting datastreams, and even shattering the boundaries of the ether itself into millions of swirling polygonal glass-like chunks.

Skye wondered, as she braced against the onslaught, if the representation of the disruption that she was experiencing was indicative of actual damage being done to the hive mind itself.

The Unicorn winced, and sucked in a ragged breath, as IJ was thrown backwards from the collision.  The ex-Changeling skidded to a stop in a limp pile at Skye's hooves, eyes barely open.

The Queen's smile widened, and she once again flared her wings.  Dark tendrils erupted from the ground around her, comprised of trillions of tiny obsidian fragments.

Her gaze fixed firmly on Skye, "I gather from your fear that you are not as acclimated to pain as your foolish compatriot."

The little Unicorn's eyes hardened, and her horn began to glow softly.

"I've had some experience with it.  Do your worst."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 19th, Gregorian Calendar

"The good news is that there's probably some worthwhile salvageable data on this drive."

Hutch glanced down at the technician's screen and sighed. 

"And the bad news?"

The technician pointed to the holographic representation of the device's contents, hovering in mid air above his console.

"Every last bit is encrypted.  To be honest?  That was kind of expected.  But it's going to take days to fully decrypt."

The General nodded slowly, offering the man a brief pat on his shoulder. 

"I'll set you up with priority access to the main computer cluster.  No one else is using it anyways.  Too busy preparing for the withdrawal."

The technician grimaced. 

"That soon?"

Hutch sighed again, a note of sadness creeping into the sound, "Yeah.  That soon."





April smiled as she gazed upwards into the morning sun. 

"Do you think we'll see some of the others again?"

Sonya shrugged and squinted, shading her eyes from the uncharacteristically bright light with one hand. 

"Maybe.  Usually when they tell us to travel this far to a specific place, there are others waiting too."

The sisters darted from the mouth of their alley, across the small street, and into the next dark metal crevice, barely avoiding a garbage drone truck in the process.  As Sonya withdrew the hardened DaTab from an inner pocket, and checked the enclosed map against their position, April scrambled onto the top of a rusting metal crate, and peered out at the sidewalk.

"Why do you think they make us do these exercises?"

Sonya didn't even glance up from her work as she responded. 

"What do you mean?"

April sighed as she watched a car pass by.  The driver and passengers were blissfully unaware of her, and all the pain her life's struggles represented.  She paused a moment to wonder what their relatively normal lives might be like, before answering her sister. 

"I mean...  Earthgov already has an army.  And Minos has always done his best to keep us a secret.  Whenever we met any of the others, they always talked like their lives were just the same as ours.  So what are we... what are we for?"

Sonya secreted the DaTab once more, and stared up at her sister with an expression made mostly of sympathy, but tinged sharply with fear. 

"I don't know.  And to be honest April?  I don't want to think about it."

April leapt from the crate, landing just shy of her sibling.  Her mouth turned down and her eyes hardened. 

"Well when *are* we going to think about it Sonya?  I don't know if we're going to live for nine more years.  How long before they ask us to do things we can't do!?  Or before they decide we're too big a secret, and we have to die?!"

Sonya shook her head, and blurted out her response with slightly more intensity that she had originally intended.

"I don't know!  Ok?!  I don't know..." 

Her gaze, and her tone softened as she brought her emotions partially back under control. 

"I lie awake a lot of nights trying to figure out some way for us to get out of this now...  But the spikes are in deep.  We'd need a surgical facility where the doctors won't ask questions.  We'd need time.  Time to have them removed before the failsafe is triggered...  We'd need more potion.  And I don't think the guards are going to let us get anywhere near a street dealer ever again."

April gestured to the tiny slit of sky visible between the tops of the buildings.  The colored strip was split disturbingly between a shining blue sky, and an ashen teal desolation.

"What about the Gryphons?"

Sonya exhaled and pinched the bridge of her nose.  She knew what April was going to say, but she voiced her query nonetheless. 

"What *about* the Gryphons?"

April clutched one hand pleadingly to her chest, "They could save us!  You've seen how the guards behave whenever one is close by.  You've watched them fly.  You saw that one tear a drone in half with her bare claws!  You know they're strong enough!  We could find one, and---"

Sonya held up a hand, and waited for April's hopeful deluge of words to fall silent.  She inhaled slowly, trying to find a diplomatic way to phrase her thoughts.

"April...  Yes.  I'm sure they are strong enough."

April's face lit up with such a glowing cascade of joy, that Sonya felt the next words catch sharply in her throat.  She inhaled again, and forced them out. 

"But I'm not sure if we can trust them."

April's expression shattered like a terracotta mask.  A tear began to form at the edge of one eye, and she fought to get out a response between the beginnings of a sob. 

"But...  But...  Why?!  They seem good!"

Sonya knelt in front of her sister, and took her comfortingly by the shoulders as she began to cry outright. 

"Yes.  But the people who invited me in off the street seemed good too.  They gave me a hot shower, a hot meal, a blanket, medicine...  And then they tore open my back and put the spikes in me."

The elder sibling carefully extricated herself from the embrace, and faced her tearful charge.

"We don't know any more about the Gryphons than we know about random people on the street.  We do know that they fight often enough alongside Earthgov, and that means they might just as soon get us killed as save us, whether they meant to or not.  Do you understand?"

At first April seemed bent on an angry staring contest with her sister, but she finally softened, and nodded tearfully.

Sonya pulled her into another comforting embrace, "It's gonna be ok kiddo.  I promise."

She rested April's head on her shoulder, and stared up at the sky once more, "I promise."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

"IS THIS A BAD TIME TO MENTION THAT I REALLY REALLY HATE BUGS?!"  

Fyrenn had to bellow just to make his voice carry the scant few feet to Varan.  The cavern was filled with so many darting, flitting drones that the sound of their wings was like the din of a hurricane.

Varan made no attempt to reply.  He was too busy keeping the tiny, precious bubble of clear air intact on his side.  Fyrenn was responsible for the other half of the equation.  Together, the brothers' swords, beaks, wings, and claws had been able to maintain a defense line against the swarm.

But their strength was waning steadily.

The Changelings did not seem keen to commit to a final assault.  Such an action would have probably ended the battle sooner, even instantly, but also cost the lives of more drones in total.  The Hive had all the time in the world, and no intention of squandering that advantage.

Fyrenn took a step back, knelt, and spread his wings over Skye as the assault intensified.

"We just have to hold out a little longer!"

Varan raised an eyebrow as he spun into an enemy, driving his sword directly through its abdomen. 

"I fear your optimism is misplaced!"

The red Gryphon shook his head once sharply as he twirled his sword.  The sharp tip dug into half a dozen chitin-armored sides, and the pain seemed to ward off the drones' assault for the briefest of moments. 

"Those two have come through for us before in the clutch.  We have to trust that they'll do it again!"





"If I were you, I wouldn't do that again.  She's clearly just a wee bit stronger than you."

IJ grimaced as Skye helped her to her feet. 

"Sarcasm notwithstanding; you are correct.  I can not face her directly, unless some variable changes drastically."

The Queen seemed content to circle at a distance, smirking to herself as she waited for her opponents to make the first move.  Skye followed the dark silhouette with her eyes as she spoke. 

"Hang on...  What is all this really?"

IJ raised an eyebrow, but did not interrupt, so the Unicorn continued. 

"I just mean that...  Well this is all in our heads, right?  What does all this," she waved a hoof at IJ, then the Queen, "What do your attacks, represent?"

The Pegasus nodded slowly, at last comprehending the question. 

"They represent attacks of the mind.  Mostly by brute force of will.  The Queen has the power of the Hive's collective will behind her, and thus I am outmatched."

Skye nodded, and IJ shifted uncomfortably as she continued.

"Aside from this..."  

The Pegasus paused, and glanced away.  Skye stamped a hoof in exasperation, and IJ glared as she finished. 

"She is attacking me within as well as without.  It breaks my concentration, and further diminishes my will."

"What...  You mean like, she's--?" 

Skye cocked her head in confusion.  IJ sighed, and her head drooped. 

"She is subjecting me to an emotional torrent.  Past memories of pain, suffering, hatred, frustration, loss, and hopelessness garnered from the stored minds of ancestors.  I doubt I can cope with very much more."

Skye's head remained tilted, though her eyes and tone softened somewhat. 

"So why isn't she doing the same to me?"

The Pegasus glowered at her enemy as she spoke. 

"Because if she harms you, she may break the connection that allows her access to our minds.  You are the one facilitating it."

Skye stiffened, locking her eyes on the horizon as thoughts raced through her mind.

"Yes..." Her monotone underscored the fact that her attention had been well and truly snagged, "...Yes I am."

It was IJ's turn to tilt her head quizzically, "What are you thinking?"

The Unicorn turned to her compatriot, "I'm thinking I need time to prepare these spells.  Do you think  you can endure a few more attacks?  Keep her busy for me while I figure this out?"

IJ ruffled her wings, and snorted, turning to face the Queen once more. 

"I think I do not have a choice."

Skye sighed, and knelt to begin her preparations, murmuring, "Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but I'll take it."  





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 19th, Gregorian Calendar

Lantry paced back and forth in front of the screen for several moments in complete silence.

When he had finished his internal contemplation, he turned to face the room.  Aside from Neyla, and General Sorven, most of the occupants were either senior staff from the Blue Ridge, or JRSF commanders.

Lantry's voice was measured, but Neyla thought she detected a hint of concern and curiosity as well. 

"Anyone have any theories, no matter how far fetched, as to why the PER were occupying a base that our best sigint insisted was an HLF installation?"

After several more moments of silence, punctuated only by nervous shuffling, Lantry spread his hands. 

"Don't be shy folks.  You all handled the unexpected variables in this situation better than anyone could have asked or hoped for.  Right now, I'm just trying to pick those tactical brains of yours for answers.  I'm not angry now, but if you sit on something, no matter how 'ridiculous' you think it is, and then later it turns out to be information that would have saved lives?  You can bet your ass I'll be angry."

The General pointed towards the compartment's only window,  "Tomorrow is a day too late, and the only penalty for stupid ideas is a little wasted breath."

Neyla tapped once on the table with a single talon to preface her question.

"How, precisely, did signals intelligence come to the conclusion that the facility belong to the Front in the first place?"

One of the technicians, a male Unicorn, spoke up.

"A series of parallel processing AI flagged shipping manifests for goods bound to the warehouse.  A cluster of servers was re-tasked to monitor all communications going in and out, and low frequency encrypted data streams were discovered."

Sorven turned to face the Equine, "How much of the data was decrypted?"

The Unicorn gestured towards the main screen with one hoof, while manipulating an oversized holographic interface with the other. 

"More than enough to tell us that this was HLF activity.  No doubt."

Neyla pointed at the screen with her own claw, "And how old is this intelligence?"

The technician called up a series of timestamps. 

"Approximately two weeks.  There is a delay between the time a message is sent, and the time we have it on our desks.  The queue for analysis and decryption is many many petabytes in size for any single given city."

The Gryphoness shrugged, and glanced up at Lantry.

"Two weeks?  That's just before we began sweeping the city.  It's possible the HLF moved out, or changed location, in response to our aggressive search patterns.  The PER were less well informed in this instance, and so they seized on what they believed to be a fortuitous opportunity."

The General nodded slowly, "That's certainly a passable theory.  If that's the case though?  I'm concerned as to how the HLF gained awareness of our plans so swiftly.  Clearly the PER did not."

The analyst raised his hoof.  Upon a nod from Lantry, he spoke, allowing himself a small smile.

"There is some good news in that vein.  The PER don't have a particularly strong presence in the Pacific Northwest yet.  Low population density overall, and a decent distance of separation from the Barrier, combined with a slightly pro-Human stilt to the demographics.  Based on the fallout chatter we've been observing?  I'd say last night's raid eliminated the main PER bastion in this city."

Lantry didn't smile outright, but the corner of his mouth pulled upwards ever so slightly, and his tone grew several shades warmer. 

"That is good news."  

He paused to survey the room, then leaned forward, placing his hands on the table, "I won't keep you any longer.  You've all got a lot of work to do tomorrow, so I'll leave you to it."

He turned to the analyst, "I want your teams to focus on finding out if Neyla's theory holds true.  Everyone else?  Keep your eyes open and your minds sharp.  I don't like surprises"





Both shipping containers were seemingly innocuous enough.  Like trillions of others that passed in and out of the Northamerizone each day, they were a dull shade of off-white, with black rubberized bumpers on their corners.

Each had a numeric identifier stenciled across their corrugated aluminum side, and a small glowing control panel beside the door that contained both the locking mechanism, and the RFID tracking chip.

Since practically the only Human intervention in the shipping industry consisted of security guards, and aircraft pilots, the majority of a package's journey was dictated by data on its RFID chip.

Everything from drone based trucks, to the robotic cranes that loaded and unloaded them, would scan the chip at periodic intervals to ensure secure tracking of a package, and proper delivery.  Size was no issue.  The concept applied to everything from the smallest of holiday gifts, to the largest of dry goods containers.

The data on the first container's chip showed that it was destined for a small dwelling in the suburbs of Vancouver.  Shipped by ocean going vessel, both crates had arrived in the harbor before the JRSF began shutting down, or severely constricting, access routes to the city.

Due to the lower priority assigned to heavy containers however, and the ship's place at the very end of the queue, the crates had waited in limbo for several days.

Once finally unloaded by an enormous robotic crane, they were shuffled onto an immense conveyor arm that carried them to a dockside shipping warehouse.  Once inside, they were transferred to a second crane, which loaded them into an appropriate shipping bay.

The system didn't balk in the slightest at the idea of shipping a seventy five ton container to a residential dwelling.  The practice of using entire shipping containers to store one's belongings while moving was commonplace.

The AI in charge of the facility merely assigned a special order drone truck to transport the monstrosity across the few intervening miles to its destination.

While it was common practice for every package in a shipping system to be scanned multiple times, the two crates in question were heavily shielded by inner lead and refractive ceramic linings.

Normally, such an oddity would have triggered a failsafe, and a Human guard would have been automatically called to search the container.  But the two containers in question were equipped with military override codes, which dismissed the system flags the moment they arose.

As the AI-driven truck pulled away with the first container, the second was diverted automatically to a special loading bay.  Tagged with a second special code, the package was also marked with an external black and orange paint stripe;  Diplomatic parcel.  Armed guards and a crewed transport required.

Within a few hours, a large crewed truck arrived from the Vancouver Earthgov complex.  Two loading technicians, a driver, and six armed Military Policemen.

Within a few moments, with the assistance of the cranes, the technicians had strapped the mysterious enormity to the back of the truck.  None of the personnel on site had the authorization to look inside the crate, not even to verify that the cargo was intact.

Anything marked 'Diplomatic,' from a bag, on up to a full sized aircraft, was considered sacrosanct by the highest of laws.  Opening a diplomatic parcel was an automatic sentence of life in prison.  No trial.  No parole.  No appeal. 

So the men got back into the truck without further ado, nor questions, and made their way carefully onto the highway.

The crate's RFID specified that it was to be delivered directly to the Earthgov Complex, so the men followed their instructions without the slightest amount of curiosity or reservation.  They had performed similar tasks thousands of times over.

They had no way to know that their cargo was alive.  And dangerous.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Nineteenth Day, Celestial Calendar

At an insistent tap from IJ's right hoof, Skye opened her eyes and glanced up. 

"Did I mention how vital it is that you let me concentrate?"

"Repeatedly."  

IJ winced, and doubled over briefly, before continuing. 

"However, I feel it is only fair to warn you that I can not withstand another encounter under these conditions."

Skye exhaled slowly, and rose from her kneeling position, "Well...  I suppose I'm as prepared as I can be."

IJ raised one eyebrow as she paused to work out cramps in her wings. 

"Forgive me if I do not seem overly encouraged by your bright and optimistic words."

The Unicorn offered her companion a wry smile, nudging her lightly with a hoof. 

"I knew you had a sense of humor in there somewhere."

"Our reprieve will not last.  I believe she may suspect something."  

IJ raised one hoof in the direction of the Queen, whose circling steps had begun to draw closer with each pass, "We should begin now."

Skye nodded slowly, and her horn began to glow with a soft, but steadily brightening aura.

"This plan happens in two parts.  The first is the shield, and the second is the sword.  I will be most vulnerable conjuring the second part of the spell, so it is up to you to keep her busy while I'm doing that."

The light at the tip of the Unicorn's horn reached a steady glow, and she leaned forward, "I'm not entirely sure what this will be like...  So brace yourself."

Skye closed her eyes, and began directing the pent up magic towards IJ.  At first, it merely took the form of ice blue eddies and swirls, mixed with hints of amethyst.  After several seconds, however, it began to adhere to the Pegasus, like flakes of snow coalescing and melting.

Rather than running off her skin, the magic behaved as if it were molten steel.  Under the direction of the Unicorn's concentration, it gradually began to separate and shape itself to her will.  Piece by piece, the magic formed;  First appearing to be a gelatinous substance, then hardening into something resembling Onyx, but with the specular colors of a twilight sky.

The lurid light of the dream world caught the blue shards in dazzling ways, lending it striations of orange and red that made no sense from the standpoint of traditional physics.

As the final plates materialized around IJ's head, she staggered, as if she had been leaning forward into a gale force wind that had abruptly dissipated.

Skye smiled, "Feel better?"

IJ's eyes widened.  She searched for the voices and images that had been piercing her skull since the Queen's first attack.  She found only blissful silence.

"How have you accomplished this?!"

Skye's expression hardened, "I don't think we have time for me to harp on my brilliance just yet."

IJ turned to follow the Unicorn's gaze, and noted that the Queen was approaching at an alarming speed.  Clearly the Changeling monarch had realized a plan was in the offing.

IJ tensed, and re-entered her combat stance.

"As much as this is certainly an improvement...  How do you plan on circumventing the will of the entire Hive?"

Skye glared off into the horizon. 

"You let me worry about that.  Just go on keeping her busy.  If she gets to me, I won't be able to sustain the spell that's protecting you."

IJ dug in her hooves, and growled, "She will not get near you.  Not while I still live."





Fyrenn winced as his shoulder absorbed another direct strike.  Varan shifted slightly as he felt the reverberations.  Both Gryphons were so tightly pressed for space that they were back to back over Skye, all four wings folded into a complete protective canopy over her.

Around them, the Hive swarmed with a renewed vigor.  Fyrenn wasn't sure whether to take it as a good sign, or a bad sign.  He swiftly came to the conclusion that it didn't matter.  Either something would change within the next few moments, or they would all be dead.

As he swung his sword up, slicing one errant drone almost completely in half on its own momentum, he drew a deep enough breath to make his voice heard.

"We made a good account of ourselves!"

Varan nodded, "That we did."

Fyrenn shifted his head to avoid an incoming attack.  Space was running out, and the Hive's fury was intensifying with greater and greater speed.  The red Gryphon could no longer see his other companions, and the inert form they were guarding. 

"We all have to go sometime...  But I'm grateful I don't have to die alone."

Varan smiled, in a rare display of his emotions, with no reservation, "As am I."





"Impressive young one.  But ultimately futile.  You can not withstand the will of the swarm!"  

The Queen punctuated her words with a vicious kick that sent her smaller opponent skidding away.  IJ dug in her hooves, and managed to remain upright.

"So you insist.  But here I still stand."

The Changeling monarch stiffened, and raised her head. 

"You stand because I permit it.  And you will fall because we will it."

The Pegasus allowed herself a small wry smirk, "There is a saying among the Pegasi.  Loud the wind, but weak the storm."

The Queen hissed, and fired a green bolt from her horn. 

"I shall make you rue your impertinence!"

IJ sidestepped and rolled.  The bolt struck her armor at steep angle, and ricocheted off into the distance.  She continued her roll until it brought her into an upright stance.

From behind her, Skye's voice rang out, "And we're gonna make you rue your arrogance!"

The words were accompanied by a reverberation.  The sound was dull, but deep.  It seemed to emanate from the Unicorn's position on the ground, and swell outwards into the very fabric of the world.  The Queen's expression shifted abruptly to one of mild confusion.

At first, it seemed as if the spell had generated no effect whatsoever.  But then IJ noticed, with a start, that the streams of hieroglyphs that had filled the air since she arrived were steadily and swiftly blinking out of existence.

As the process gained momentum, the ground seemed to curl inwards from the horizon.  Within moments, the dull roar of the Hive mind had vanished entirely, and the space had morphed from an infinite plane into a small sphere.

The Queen's eyes narrowed, "What have you done?!"

Skye smiled, "We're in my head.  So we're going to do this on my terms."

"You have disrupted our link to the Hive."

The Unicorn dipped her head, "Disruption spells are something of a calling card for me.  I hope that collective will of yours wasn't important or anything."

The obsidian colored monarch lunged forward, hissing in fury and loosing a myriad of bolts from her horn.  Skye had to scramble to avoid the majority of the feverish assault.  Despite her evasive actions, she still suffered two impacts.  The hits drove her to the curved surface of the battlefield, but she managed to maintain her twin spells.

IJ lost no time in seizing the opportunity.

Whether out of a desperate desire to regain her connection to the Hive, or pure unbridled fury, the Queen seemed totally fixated on Skye.  She rammed her sharp hooves into the ground, the serrated extrusions at their tips shattering the very fabric of the simulated reality.

Skye rolled, barely avoiding a puncturing blow to the head.  Mustering every iota of spare strength, she fired a bolt from her own horn, directly into the Queen's face.

The damage was minimal, but it gave IJ precisely the window she needed.

The Pegasus flared her wings, and coiled her hind legs.  As the bolt struck she released the pent up energy of her muscles, fueled by a mix of desperation, fury, and throbbing pain.

She landed directly on the queen's back, and lost no time in biting down on one wing.  She tore the limb loose with all the strength she could muster, eliciting a primitive and eerie cry of pain from the monarch.

IJ spit out the bitter shards of membrane, and shouted at the top of her lungs, "Give me a weapon! NOW!"

Reacting more by instinct than by intellect, Skye frantically ripped apart the threads of her armor spell, and pulled on the nodes she believed would accomplish her purpose.  The vambrace plates on IJ's front legs abruptly extruded outward into glittering razor sharp blades.

The Pegasus brought her head alongside the Queen's as the Changeling attempted to displace the offending Pony by bucking and gyrating wildly.

"You can not withstand the will of the free."

Before the enraged creature could react, IJ poured the last of her strength, and the entirety of her fury, into her forelegs.  The needle points of Skye's spell drove straight into the Queen's skull, cutting until the blades were swallowed in their entirety.

As IJ pulled back in revulsion, and dove away, the blades separated from the plates that begat them, and continued to sink into the Changeling's projection.

The sound that emanated from the Queen's open muzzle made her previous cry of pain seem like little more than a stifled groan.  The sound was so piercing that Skye began to wonder if her ears would bleed.

Untamed arcs of green energy sprung forth from the Queen's horn, shattering the bounds of the world wherever they impacted.  As her scream continued, the horn itself began to glow in a series of expanding spider-webbing rifts.

At last, with a crack reminiscent of a lightning bolt, her horn split.  The rift propagated outward with astonishing speed, expanding into a myriad of cracks across her entire body, and the remainder of the collapsing world.

IJ and Skye barely had time to shield their heads before everything came apart in a final flash of white.
> Chapter 19
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 19th, Gregorian Calendar

"Leaving?  Already?"

Taranis barely spared Klarien a glance as he finished packaging the last of his armor, "Full operations here are due to cease by week's end.  I am being sent to London in two days."

Klarien blinked twice, and sighed, "Well.  It was nice working with you.  More or less."

The blue Dragon finished securing the lid to the final crate, and lumbered sedately towards the bay door. 

"Good luck with your next posting."

"Thanks!  You---"  Before Klarien could finish, Taranis had already vanished around the corner.

The green Dragon huffed. 

"Crazy old coot."





"No survivors?" 

Lantry's brow furrowed.

Hutch sighed and shook his head, "We did recover a data drive.  It's in working condition, and they didn't have time to initiate failsafe purges."

Lantry leaned in towards his screen, magnifying his image slightly on Hutch's end.  The smile on his lips offset the chastising tone of his voice. 

"I thought I told you to bring me back a live souvenir."

"Well, you know how Dragons are.  And you did allocate nuclear ordinance," Hutch shrugged, and sat back, "We're lucky anything at all survived, living or otherwise."

The older General grunted as he downed a sip of something from a battered silver canteen.  Anyone who didn't know Lantry would have assumed it was something alcoholic, but Hutch knew that it was most likely the General's favorite brew of natural Equestrian tea.

Hutch steepled his hands as he continued.

"We're due to stand down here by the end of next week.  Evacuation Command is splitting us between the Bureau, and a temporary staging camp in Harrisburg.  I've asked that the crypto staff be allowed to stay on until the end, so we can finish working on the drive as soon as possible."

Lantry nodded, "Keep me in the loop.  We're all very tense over here.  If you read the action report I'm sure you know why."

Hutch nodded once sharply, "Yes sir."

"Then you know that any actionable signal intelligence on the HLF is effectively as valuable as a brick of solid gold.  Make this your top priority Hutch.  Something doesn't sit right with me about finding a bunch of the sun-kissers camping out inside a liberation front base."

Lantry leaned in towards his screen again, as if to emphasize his point.  In the harsh light of the screen, Hutch could make out thousands of wrinkles and worry lines.  A testament to a long and stressful career.

"You'll be my first call Miles."

Lantry smiled slightly, "Take care.  Don't let those namby pambies in the Evacuation Command push you around."

Hutch snorted as he severed the connection.

"Over my cold corpse."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twentieth Day, Celestial Calendar

At first, Fyrenn thought that the horde had finally decided to throw caution to the wind and end it all.  The bodies of the drones fell upon him in a sudden crush that generated a wave of claustrophobic panic, which threatened to overwhelm all his senses.

The Gryphon prepared to make his final stand, and sell his life as dearly as possible.

As he dropped his sword and tensed to lunge, talons splayed, he made a shocking realization.  The first chitinous corpses to brush up against his wings and back were limp;  They rolled off like sacks of dry goods.

Fyrenn's muscles remained tight as a coiled industrial spring for the better part of ten seconds, as Changeling forms rained prone from the sky.

At first the non sequitur was simply too overwhelming for him to react.  But as the last of the Drones fell, the predatory instincts within awoke once more and pressed him to seize the advantage.

Fyrenn began digging through the pile in a frenzy.  The Drones were light, and it didn't take him long to find the tan hoof he had been searching for.  The Gryphon seized on his friend's leg, and with a mighty tug Skye's body came free.

Barely pausing to note that Varan was shaking himself out of a similar pile of corpses, Fyrenn laid Skye down on the clearest patch of gravel he could find, and placed one talon delicately to the side of her throat.

A flutter in her eyelids told him the same thing as his sense of touch.  As Skye slowly began to wake, Fyrenn abandoned all attempts at reservation, and hugged the Unicorn firmly to his chest, encircling her protectively with both wings.

For a moment, Skye returned the embrace, nestling her head firmly into the warm, comforting feathers around Fyrenn's neck.  After several seconds however, she began to pull away, "Ack! Ok ok ok bird brains!  That's enough.  I need to breathe at some point!"

Fyrenn abruptly released the equine, and stood back, ears flattening in an unconscious expression of mild embarrassment. 

"Sorry."

Skye staggered to her feet shakily, and smirked.  Her words came out with a slightly wheezy overtone, but she seemed otherwise unhurt.

"You know you don't need to be so worried, right?  I've been dead before.  So have you.  It didn't exactly last."

The red Gryphon snorted.  With his concern over Skye's fate alleviated, his thoughts quickly turned to the rest of his friends and family, followed by his gaze.  Varan had already moved towards Kephic, and the two Gryphons were busy helping a squirming Carradan to free himself from a pile of Drones.

Fyrenn dashed towards the group in an undignified fashion, hop-skipping over groups of Drones in a series of bounding leaps.  By the time he arrived, Stan was wriggling away from the last of the Changelings, "Eeeyech!  I hate, I hate, I HATE BUGS!"

Kephic allowed himself a half smile, muttering as he helped Fyrenn dig into the remainder of the pile. 

"At this point?  I don't blame you.  Not one little bit."

The two Gryphons worked swiftly to clear more Drone bodies, finally reaching IJ's prone form on the bottom of the heap.

Without prelude or pause, Fyrenn lifted the Pegasus effortlessly, and moved her to a clearer portion of the cave floor.  When she did not stir, he placed a talon to her throat, and a cupped claw in front of her muzzle.

Though no one could see it beneath his red feathers, his face went as pale as a new moon, his ears flattened and his wings tensed.

Fyrenn raised his head and shook it slowly.

"She's not breathing."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 19th, Gregorian Calendar

"Ma'am, I'm flattered.  Really.  But honestly?  I can't even begin to fathom why you'd bring me down here at this time of the night."  

Astris cocked his head, and resumed walking at an accelerated pace to keep up with his companion.  Councilor Martins continued at a swift pace, never so much as turning her head to make sure the Pony was keeping up, although she did allow a small smile to creep into the edge of her lips.

"Because, Astris, time is short and getting shorter.  It was, admittedly, only a matter of time before the PER began to see our project as a threat to their ideals.  It's just that no one expected them to react so soon, or so comprehensively."

The Unicorn swiveled his head, tilting it back to an even keel, then over to the other side.

"But we have contingencies in place...?  Don't we?"

Martins finally paused at the end of the corridor, which terminated in a hardened titanium blast door.  The Councilor placed her hand on the biometric lock, and held it there as the security system sampled her DNA.

"Yes, we do."

The locking panel let out a warm two-tone, and the door began to drop into the floor inch by inch on its hydraulic rams.  At first, Astris couldn't begin to fathom what he was seeing.  

The corridor continued several feet beyond the portal, widening out into a catwalk.  There were levels of scaffolding above and below the platform on which they stood, but it was the center of the space that was confusing.  It seemed to be nothing more than a metallic swoop filling Astris' vision.

Only after the Unicorn took a tentative step forward into the enormous chamber did he begin to comprehend the object it contained.  He swiveled his head first left, then right, jaw askew in utter shock.

The ship was at least two hundred feet long, by his estimation, and three stories high at its center.  It took the form of a silvery-gray arrowhead, with cylindrical formations tucked under the rear that Astris guessed were engine nacelles.

Aside from the Genesist emblem on one of the wing-like protrusions at the rear, the only other markings on the craft were the seams in its hull plating, and a designation painted in white near the nose.

'FTV-01 - Sylph'

Martins stepped up quietly behind her friend, and gestured expansively with one hand as she spoke in an almost reverent tone. 

"FTL Test Vehicle number one.  The Sylph.  When the last of the instrumentation palettes and drone control packages go in tonight, she will be ready to fly."

Astris worked his jaw for a moment before finally managing to turn air into meaningful words.

"This...  Isn't supposed to be ready for---"

Martins smirked, finishing his thought for him.

"Three months, two weeks, and four days.  To be honest?  We built a great deal of cushioning into that estimate to give the engineers time to be as prepared as possible.  Unfortunately at this point, we don't have that luxury.  So we improvised, within acceptable risk limits."

The Unicorn sat down hard; his rump producing a resounding thud against the metal crisscross of the catwalk.

"She flies tomorrow?"

Martins nodded slowly, sweeping the craft with her gaze as she elaborated.

"Aside from the two-dozen engineers on the core team?  Only eight other people know about this.  Four flight controllers, myself, two other board members, and you."

The Councilor clasped her hands behind her back, and sighed.

"If we are to succeed security is of the utmost concern."

Astris cocked his head, and his muzzle turned down, "And if we fail?"

Martins' lips hardened into a thin, firm line, "Then it is best no one else be the wiser."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twentieth Day, Celestial Calendar

"Make your report.  Has your Hive completed its preparations for the event?"

For a long moment, IJ found herself unable to speak.  She was able to recognize the voice, even without the presence of the menacing silhouette that gave birth to it.

She cast her head swiftly to the left, and then the right.  Skye was nowhere to be seen.  The constrictive mental sphere that had previously been their world seemed to have dissolved into a complex lattice of obsidian bridges and arches, linked together in an immense void.

The air was thrumming with information glyphs.  Thousands upon thousands of times more than had previously manifested.

IJ's focus, however, remained on her imminent problem.

She had been part of multi-Hive communications more than enough times to have become familiar with the form, and voice of her Over-Queen.  The leader of all Changelings.

Chrysalis.

Sensing IJ's panic, the Queen turned, and fixed her sickly green eyes on the fear-filled Pegasus.  Chrysalis' voice dipped into the lowest octave it could sustain.  The world was spat, more than spoken. 

"You!"

IJ took an instinctive step back, and crouched into a defensive position.  She noted, with growing concern, that her spell-armor was no longer present.

Chrysalis began to cross the space between them, framed by a distant sourceless ghastly blue light.

"You are the drone who was to bring us the Gryphons' lifecode.  You are the betrayer!  Where is Hive-Queen Nymphis?!  Did she send you to me?"

When IJ's silence persisted, the Queen darted forward like the stench of death carried on a swift wind.  She crossed the remainder of the distance that separated them in less than a second.

The immense Changeling leaned in over IJ.  The Pegasus tried to muster the energy to roll, run, leap into the air, or to escape in any conceivable way.  But she found herself inexplicably rooted, as a dull roar filled her mind and her muscles.

Chrysalis hissed.

"You *will* answer me, one way or another."

Before IJ could react, a green miasma of energy arcs erupted from Chrysalis' misshapen horn, slamming into the Pegasus' head with a fury that sent her skidding across the bridge into an upright pillar.

She writhed as hard as she was able, but the tendrils remained, snaking into her eyes and ears, bringing with them the pain of an electrified branding iron.

Her world began to dissolve into a haze of emotions, images, and sounds.  For what must have been only a few seconds, but what felt like ten hours, the Pegasus struggled mightily to regain her faculties.

Memories, both her own, and those of other Drones, bombarded her senses with a fury equitable to a summer typhoon.  She was on the verge of submitting to the storm, when something brushed past her mind's eye.  A tiny scrap of an image.

It was enough.

The very presence of the knowledge in her mind brought Chrysalis up short.  The deluge ceased momentarily as she stood stock still in shock, trying to evaluate what had happened.

"How is that possible...?!"  

The queen's voice manifested as a whisper that emanated from everywhere, and nowhere, simultaneously.  IJ realized with a start that she was hearing Chrysalis' musings directly from her mind.

The Changeling's eyes narrowed to fierce slits, and her next words came directly from her muzzle, laden with enough hatred to seemingly melt iron.

"Unless... You have the codesong within you..."

Chrysalis straightened to her full height, and glowered, "This changes matters.  I had hoped to perhaps break you of your flaws.  Enfold you back into the collective.  Bring you home."

She bared her fangs, and IJ winced, "But you are too much a danger to the order of the Swarm.  You know that which is reserved only for the over-Queen.  And so you will die."

Time seemed to elongate into an impossibly stretched moment.  IJ had several seconds to wonder if the experience was anything like what the Gryphons described as 'combat time.'

She watched as Chrysalis began her leap, lethal green sparks erupting from her hooves and horn.  The expression on her muzzle embodied pure twisted hatred and revulsion.

IJ stiffened.  Any thought of giving in evaporated like dew under the desert sun.  Her rage leapt from an ember to a roiling fire that seemed, in the moment, equal to the fury of an entire Hive, with more to spare.

She knew, in that moment, that she had been deceived.  And she refused to accept her fate.

As Chrysalis' form descended towards her, she glowered up into the Queen's eyes with unbridled defiance.  She knew she was incapable of facing the monarch directly, and more than anything she yearned for an escape.  A way to rob Chrysalis of her victory.  To buy time.

Others needed to know what she knew, of that she was convinced beyond any hint of doubt.  To escape, to spread the truth, would constitute its own victory.

As if in response to her desire, the world around her began to fragment into blocky chunks, which themselves began to blur away into darkness and silence.

IJ only began to realize that her desire had indeed manifested as some sort of event, when Chrysalis' face began to change.

The triumphant rage began to melt away into frustrated fury.  As her hooves neared IJ's head, the entire illusion collapsed, abruptly severing her from the Queen with a veil of darkness.

And then the veil expanded.





Skye grit her teeth until she felt as if her jaw would burst from the pressure.  She had never been particularly skilled at medical magic, and IJ was taxing her meager skills many times beyond their limits.

The Unicorn had long since shut out the painfully mournful expressions of Stan and Fyrenn, and even the more stoic melancholy of Kephic and Varan's downturned beaks.

She knew the chances that IJ would breathe again, that her heart would ever beat again, were slim to none even under the horn of the best surgeon.  As the blue halo of her thaumatic energy probed the Pegasus' chest cavity, she leaned in and whispered into one ear, "Don't you bucking dare.  I was just starting to like you.  You can't go now!"

The words had even less effect than her magic.

At last, she sat back, and allowed tears to roll silently down her cheeks.  She let the magic dissipate, and hung her head.  It had been nearly ten minutes.  There was no point anymore.

Fyrenn sighed, and winced, closing his eyes against the pain.  Wordlessly, he moved to sit beside the tearful Unicorn, extending one wing over her back in a gesture designed to comfort him as much as her.

Kephic dipped his head in respectful silence.  Only Varan could bring himself to watch as Stan hesitantly stepped towards the corpse of his friend.  The Gryphon saw the streams of tears pouring from his friend's eyes, and had to fight for several seconds internally to keep his own plethora of emotions off his beak.

Stan collapsed beside the unmoving white Pegasus, and began to weep freely.  His wracked sobs were the only sound in the cavern, and the echo made them seem that much more melancholy and heartfelt.

Kephic couldn't bear to watch Stan's lonely form shudder any longer.  The speckled Gryphon wordlessly moved to stand beside the salmon Pegasus, reaching out a claw to pull him to his feet.

Carradan winced as he rose, making a failing effort to stem his tears.  Kephic placed a comforting claw on his shoulder, "We can't stay here.  More of them will come."

Stan nodded, unable to speak past his grief.  He motioned towards IJ's body with his head, forcing his eyes shut momentarily so that he wouldn't have to confront reality so blithely.

Varan rose, speaking softly as he approached. 

"I will carry her."

Carradan nodded his thanks, and began to pick his way back towards Fyrenn and Skye under the comforting impetus of Kephic's claw.

Fyrenn pushed Skye towards Kephic and Carradan, gently turning her so that she would not force herself to watch as Varan completed his grim task.

The red Gryphon, however, kept his eyes locked on his brother.  He had no intention of letting the moment pass without paying his respects in his own small way.  Someone had to remember.

Varan arrived at the corpse, and paused, closing his eyes.  Fyrenn knew he was saying a prayer inwardly, and he fired off a silent invocation of his own.

The golden Gryphon's eyes opened, and he knelt, extending his claws to receive IJ's body for the first leg of its final journey.

Fyrenn thought his eyes were deceiving him at first.  The glimmer of blue energy around IJ's head couldn't possibly be anything more than an illusory artifact of his own restrained tears.  But as the effect began to spread over her body, and as Varan paused, then stepped back in alarm, Fyrenn realized that something was indeed amiss.

He was on the cusp of calling out to Kephic, Skye, and Stan, but before he could, the light abruptly intensified, and they turned of their own accord, their curiosity reflexively piqued.

IJ's body began to emit an audible thrum as it rose into the air.  The light intensified further, until only the Gryphons could stare directly into it, and continue to see the Pegasus' form.  Fyrenn's beak began to slacken in shock as IJ's shape began to change before his eyes, for the second time in the years he had known her.

Her size doubled abruptly, and then increased slightly more.  Her proportions sleekened subtly into the elegant curves of a larger Equinid, and her legs punctuated themselves with a series of peculiar holes.

From her head, a horn slowly erupted;  First as an ethereal helix of light, and then as a more solid construct.  Fyrenn thought it resembled some sort of combination between a Changeling horn, and a Unicorn horn.

Her body retained it's familiar white coloring, but her fur vanished abruptly, replaced by the smooth reflective glow of armored chitin.

Her mane and tail remained a shocking blue, but burst forth into much larger emanations, and seemed to take on a more translucent striated sheen.  Finally, her wings rippled, and blurred, at last taking on a shape that resembled their previous Pegasus form, but also hearkened to the insectoid wings of a Changeling as well.  Feathers, but somehow wrought from exoskeletal chitin.

The light began to dim, and IJ began to drop back towards the floor.  As she reached the gravelly surface, the last of the energy dissipated entirely.

There was a protracted moment of silence.

Before any of the shocked companions could think to break it, the cavern was filled with the sighs and groans of wakening drones.  The ones closest to IJ began to stagger to their hooves first, and as they did so, an incredible change swept over them.

Where once had been identical emotionless black platforms for the Hive, there now stood beings which were not unlike the former in shape, but vastly different in their color and eyes.

Unlike the pupil-less, solid, shark-like orbs they had formerly possessed, the Changelings now had eyes that were more similar to those of Ponies.  Fyrenn could easily see, however, that the irises were not entirely circular, but rather faceted.  Most of them seemed to have between ten and twelve sides.

Like the Changelings' new bodies, they came in many colors.  Most of them bright and engaging.  The bodies themselves were more muted, but displayed uniqueness nonetheless.  In the absence of manes, it seemed as if some of their spikes had acquired different colors and patterns as well.

The spikes themselves were becoming less like spikes, and more like swooping crests all the while.

The changes swept through the cavern slowly at first, but then gained momentum like a tidal surge.  Within moments, Fyrenn found himself standing in a sea of confused beings;  Each as unique from one another as conceivably possible, within the bounds of a single species.

Fyrenn swiftly realized they would not be a threat.  For the most part, they seemed too dazzled and dazed to even speak.  The Gryphon abruptly refocused on IJ, and darted between the standing groups of Drones towards her still-prone body.

He arrived at nearly the same time as his other compatriots, and for a moment they stood in wordless shock over their friend.

Just as Stan was about to open his muzzle, the prone shape took a single shuddering breath.

The shock was palpable, as if the group had been strung together by a million-volt electric current.

Carradan was the first to break free of it.  He dashed forward and bent down, placing his muzzle in front of IJ's.  Fyrenn inhaled sharply as he caught the shining expression on his friend's face.  He wasn't sure he could cope with seeing Stan's hopes dashed, let alone having to face the same sadness.

His fears were instantly obliterated as IJ's eyes snapped open.  She seemed to be stuck trying to process for a few moments, then she glowered. 

"Listen carefully, because I will only say this once.  Get.  Out.  Of.  My.  Face."

Skye snorted, "Yeah.  Her brain is definitely intact."

Carradan seemed to be considering his options for a moment.  Then he grinned slyly.  Before IJ could protest, he snagged her neck in a crushing hug, pulling away at precisely the right moment to avoid getting a hoof to the head.

Kephic shook his head slowly, and chuckled wryly as he spoke.

"I don't mean to break up an absolutely *precious* moment for the scrapbook here...  But can anyone tell us exactly what just happened?!"

IJ stood, shakily at first, but then with growing resolve.  When her legs had finally reached full and stable extension, she looked up.  Her eyes burned with a fire that seemed equal parts anger, triumph, and determination.

Her voice, when she spoke, was still her own, but it took on a resonance, as if being projected partly through the other Drones.

"Yes, I can.  I have learned the truth."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 19th, Gregorian Calendar

Veritas' expression remained inscrutable.  Everything from the diameter of her pupils, to the tension in her muscles, exuded a preternatural calm and precision.

"Explain this."  

The Unicorn dipped her head towards an active DaTab on the desk before her.  Her assistant would have paused indefinitely, her brain locked in an endless terrified fight-or-flight cycle, had Veritas not pierced her with an unusually malevolent glare.

The chilling expression miraculously jumpstarted the human woman's speech processes, much to her unexpressed gratitude. 

"Uh...  Well...  It is exactly as the report says ma'am.  The base we took in Vancouver was raided, and we weren't prepared for it.  There really was no way we could have avoided---"

Veritas waved one hoof lazily in the air, "Yes yes.  I'm not concerned about how we lost it.  That much is clear, and it obviously couldn't have been helped."

Her assistant mimed a stammering gesture silently as Veritas continued. 

"What I want you to find out for me is how we came by the asset in the first place.  A JRSF raid is not unusual.  The Human Liberation Front abandoning a forward operations base is most definitely unusual.  What have I told you about this in the past Clarice?"

"Err...  Ahhh..."  

Clarice suddenly found that she had lost her ability to cogently form phrases once again.

Veritas sighed, "Open your damnably clogged ape ears and hear me;  When the unusual happens, when 'coincidences' arise, or when something even *seems* wrong..."

Clarice nodded cautiously, "...Then nothing is ever as it seems?"

Veritas smiled, "So you do remember.  I knew I kept you around for something."

The Unicorn's visage abruptly shed all indications of anger, instead reverting to a coy grin. 

"Be a dear and run this to ground for us.  I want to know every last particular, no matter how insignificant it might seem.  Understand?"

Clarice nodded mutely.

"Good."

Veritas turned back to her desk, and began toying idly with a holographic menu.  When Clarice made no move to exit, the Unicorn glanced up.  A slight tinge of steel returned to the Unicorn's eyes, and tone. 

"Was there something else?"

Her assistant didn't answer.  She merely backpedaled out of the room, occupying the entirety of her free and clear thought processes with the mere effort.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twentieth Day, Celestial Calendar

"You wanna run that by me again?  And...  I can not believe I'm saying this...  Make it a bit simpler for us? You're saying that until right now, this very minute...  None of these Drones were actually Changelings?"  

Skye could not restrain herself from staring at IJ, while she spoke with an emotion best described as shell shocked curiosity.

IJ huffed, and rolled her eyes as she tried to keep a patronizing aspect out of her voice.

"Yes and no."  

She paused, glancing around at the muted din of activity in the cavern.  Fyrenn followed her gaze.  Everywhere groups of newly remade Changelings were talking, whispering, laughing, and crying in the throes of animated emotional interactions, all pervaded by an overwhelming sense of joy and wonder.  Many had begun to experiment with tweaking their new forms, changing every last detail about themselves to suit their individual wish, as they stumbled helter skelter into new and wondrous revelations of self.

After several seconds, IJ managed to re-collect her thoughts.  Her gaze remained fixed on the Changelings in the distance as she spoke.

"From the time we are spawned, we are taught...  Imprinted... that we have one goal, and one goal only.  Serve the Hive for the good of the many.  The first truth of practicality impressed upon us is this; To hunger is to die, to feed is to live.  And the only way to feed is on the emotions of others."

Stan squinted in confusion, "So you're saying that's... Wrong?  Aside from the obvious moral issues...  Logistically wrong?"

IJ nodded slowly, her new wings rustling reflexively as she continued.

"The truth is that we are meant for something more.  Chrysalis has always known this, just as her predecessor did.  She controls the flow of information in the Hive, and she conceals the truth for her own purposes, just as her predecessor did."

Varan's eyes widened slightly in understanding, an unmistakable sense of awe creeping into his voice. 

"You are implying that Changelings were originally symbiotic, rather than parasitic."

Skye's muzzle lit up, as the train of thought expanded out of control under the coaxing of her analytical mind.  Her ears perked up, and her tone spiked into an excited squeal.

"That's incredible!  That would mean that your biology is a function of the emotions your species takes in over time, combined with the genetic predispositions selected by the Queen!"

Kephic shook his head, and raised an eyebrow, interrupting as Skye stopped to take a breath.

"As fascinating as I'm sure all this is, I think there are more pressing questions here.  How did this happen?  How are you..."  The Gryphon faltered, and gestured wordlessly to IJ's entire body with one claw.

Fyrenn cocked his head, chiming in abruptly.

"And did you learn anything else?  Did you find what we came for?"

IJ dipped her head, nodding as she responded. 

"And more.  But it will make more sense if you all maintain a modicum of silence, try to pay attention, and let me finish."

The Changeling glanced from face to face around the circle of friends, then took a deep breath.

"You can't just suddenly become a Hive Queen, or the Overqueen for that matter.  There is a specific strain of codesong... Sequence of Genes, you might call it, that appears in a very small number of us.  This strain allows us to become Queens.  Of those few, fewer still have a further strain that would allow them to rise to the position of Overqueen."

Carradan could not resist the urge to interrupt, "So you have some of those genes, and...  That means you're a hive-queen now?"

IJ raised one eyebrow, a hint of sarcastic disdain working its way into her voice.

"What does it look like to you?"

She gestured with one hoof towards Skye as she went on in a less prickly tone.

"When you severed the connection, I had already begun to change.  Killing the Hive Queen left a void, and the Hive needed someone to fill her role.  I have the genesong.  Celestia is powerful, but the spell she bound me with was nothing compared to the power of the Swarm."

A moment of silence followed her declaration.  The gravitas of the statement was not lost on anyone.  All but Skye had been present when IJ was bound to her Pegasus shape.

After several seconds, IJ dismissed her recollections and continued.

"Chrysalis was just as unaware of this as I was.  I was inadvertently drawn into a link with her, and she attacked me.  In her haste and anger, she failed to notice the changes.  She did a poor job of defending and filtering her own thoughts.  That is how I discovered the truth she conceals."

Fyrenn sighed, and blinked in astonishment.  The emotion pervaded his words.

"How do you even go about lying to an entire race?"

Varan raised an eyebrow, and offered his own explanation calmly.

"You and I would trust any other Gryphon to tell the truth without thought or concern.  How much more for a Hive mind?  But with corrupted morality, it would be possible for the one at the center of the web to reshape the structure in her own image, for her own benefit."

IJ nodded, continuing the golden Gryphon's train of thought.

"And she has done so for long enough.  Starting today, the creeping festering lie ends.  We were never meant to feed rapaciously.  To take without giving."

Skye smiled, and gestured with one hoof, directing her words at IJ.

"You're living proof.  Changelings can be...  Were *meant* to be symbiotes."

IJ turned to fix her gaze on the Unicorn.  To Fyrenn's surprise, her expression was soft.  A smile tugged at the corners of her muzzle, and the Gryphon could have sworn he caught a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes.

"Yes.  We were meant to be symbiotic.  To feed from positive emotions, but also to magnify and reflect them for the benefit of those who provided them originally.  This way there is less for the Queen, but more for the whole, and more from smaller sources."

Kephic raised a claw, and tilted his head slightly, "You said you had learned more?  Something about why we came here?"

IJ's face hardened.  The slight smile vanished, replaced by a harsh glower. 

"Yes.  And it is not good news."
> Chapter 20
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 20th, Gregorian Calendar

"Ma'am?  The Tower has cleared us.  We'll be landing in a few moments."

Celestia tore herself out of her mental isolation, and conjured her best diplomatic smile, and tone for the soldier. 

"Thank you..."  She glanced quickly at the nameplate over the left breast-plate of his glossy black armor, "Thank you Lieutenant Anders."

The man returned the smile, and tipped a salute as he turned to leave the compartment.

The monarch sighed, and turned her gaze to the nearest of the aircraft's massive ovoid windows.  She liked to sit just forward of the wing on diplomatic flights.  The position gave her a wonderful view of the ground below during takeoff and landing.

She could, of course, obtain such a vantage point naturally using her own wings, but she seldom got the chance to risk flying so high on Earth.  Security was, and always would be, a paramount concern and a major restriction.

Celestia had heard that Vancouver was draped in a nigh-omnipresent blanket of rain clouds, but she had assumed the stories were largely hyperbole.

The view from her window suggested otherwise.

As the aircraft's engines began to spool down, and the vehicle canted forward for final approach, the clouds finally parted.  The first impression that struck Celestia was an overpowering sense of impending gray and silver shapes.  The sensation was not unfamiliar.  Most of earth's megatropoli, so called, left her with a similar feeling.

She always felt a warring sense of awe, and melancholy.  The lack of plant life and sunshine gave Earth a bleak and desolate atmosphere.  At the same time, the staggering displays of ingenuity present in Human cities kindled excitement within her.

Not for the first time, she found her mind wandering towards visions of what Humankind might accomplish in Equestrian form.

As the enormous mega-skyscrapers fell away to the rear, the plane dipped even closer to the ground, and banked sharply.  The distinctive double-strip pattern of runway lights rushed upwards from the fog, and within another few moments there was a slight 'thud' as the aircraft touched down.  

The engines flared to full throttle once more, and Celestia winced as her sensitive Equine ears were subjected to a deeply unpleasant barrage of high frequency whines.

The sensation passed as quickly as it came, and the aircraft began to make its sharp braking turn onto the taxiway.  The cabin filled with orange, blue, and red flashes as military and police vehicles took up station under both wings, escorting the craft to its final resting place near a row of hangars.

As soon as the craft came to a complete stop, Celestia found herself mobbed by the attentions of her four Royal Guardsponies, and their four counterparts from Earthgov Special Forces. 

The eight soldiers boxed her in, as per usual, and walked in perfect synchronization with her to the airstair.

She made a mental note to pass on her thanks to General Lantry.  In the past, her Human guards had worn standard blast-proof helmets with opaque visors.  The overall effect of their faceless presence had always left her feeling isolated and unpleasant.

This time, it seemed her honor guard had been issued armor with clear plates that made their faces entirely visible.

Celestia never liked to think of soldiers as faceless, nameless, emotionless units.  She preferred constant reminders that she was surrounded by real, thinking, feeling flesh-and-blood beings.

The aircraft's door swung inward to reveal a strip of pavement bounded on either side by rows of JRSF combat troops.  A score of Humans, a few Ponies, and seven Gryphons in full assault gear.

Celestia immediately recognized the seventh Gryphon, as well as the two Human officers standing beside her.

As she descended the stairs, the Solar monarch noted that there was no press to be seen anywhere on the tarmac.  Indeed, it seemed she had been routed to a military installation.  It wasn't the first time security had been so high for one of her visits, but it was the first time in more recent memory.

General Lantry couldn't keep a hint of familiarity out of his smile as he proffered a formal salute, "On behalf of the United Earth Government, welcome to Vancouver."

Celestia inclined her head in response.  With formalities dispensed, she offered both Humans, and the Gryphoness, a wide smile.

"General Lantry, General Sorven.  Neyla.  It is good to see you all again."

Sorven smiled nervously and tried to avoid fidgeting.  She and Celestia had only ever met in passing, and certainly never under formalized diplomatic circumstances.

Lantry, as ever, seemed to be doing his best to keep his emotions behind a façade.  And as ever, he seemed to be failing spectacularly, in a way that made him feel genuine and understandable.

Neyla was more difficult to read, but Celestia thought she sensed a hint of wistful preoccupation behind the warrior's welcoming smile.

The Alicorn glanced up at the sky and sniffed delicately, "I do believe it will rain soon.  Shall we?"

Lantry nodded, "We've arranged transport.  Council sessions begin at ten-hundred tomorrow, so you have some time to get settled and be briefed."

Celestia smiled, "I appreciate that."

As the party turned to enter the hangar, surrounded by the most well equipped and well trained contingents on Earth, a peal of thunder rumbled in the distance.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty First  Day, Celestial Calendar

"That...  Would explain a lot."  

Fyrenn shook his head slowly as his words died away, trying to process the scope of the information IJ had just revealed.  He wouldn't have thought it possible a moment earlier, but the sheer gravitas and urgency of the news outweighed the recent revelations about the origins of Changelings.

No one else in the group seemed eager to break the silence.  Most had cast their eyes downward to the dimly lit path beneath them.  To Fyrenn's eyes, they all seemed to be lost within their own worlds, trying to understand the scale of what was potentially going to occur.

Predictably, Carradan managed to form cogent words next.

"So what are we all standing around here for if something like this is going to happen within the next two days?  We oughta be out of here and halfway back home by now!"

IJ's voice issued back from the head of the line. 

"There is something here that you still need to see."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, ducking swiftly to avoid a stalactite as he spoke with a mild hint of incredulity.

"Something so important that it's worth delaying news of an imminent attack?"

By way of an answer, IJ stopped and gestured forward with one hoof, "See for yourself."

As the group filtered out of the tunnel, Fyrenn found himself at a complete loss for words.  He blinked twice, then tilted his head to the side, abandoning himself to the pursuit of taking in the chamber's beauty.

The room was nearly four stories tall, and easily over a hundred yards long.  The walls were vaguely ovoid, and the roof curved up into a series of vaulted arches as a result.

The chamber would have been unremarkable but for the staggering optical phenomena generated by the rock.  

The surface was lined with millions upon millions of precisely cut light refracting mineral veins.  The patterns danced back and forth, entwining, circling, then separating again as the wove their way across the basalt.

The room's primary source of light seemed to be an upside down dome of bioluminescent fluid attached to the roof's highest point.  The illumination passed through the mineral veins, causing them to glow as if lit by their own internal fires.

More astonishingly, the crystal patterns threw off a series of breathtaking aurorae.  Unlike their natural counterparts, the glittering illusions were sharp-edged, precise, and highly intricate.  Holograms.

Fyrenn realized, with a jolt, that they were images.  Impressively, the holographic murals seemed to morph and progress as the Gryphon moved, based on his perspective.  If he walked forward, they progressed like a stop motion film.  If he moved sideways towards a specific image, it dissolved into a series of related, more detailed renderings.

Skye appeared to be completely enamored, brushing one hoof up into an aura and watching as the light flowed over her.  Carradan, for once in his life, seemed to be completely speechless.

Even Varan's normal stoicism seemed to have given way to an unabashed expression of awe and wonderment.

IJ stepped towards the center of the room and flared her wings slightly. 

"No creature, save for the Hive Queens, have set foot in a chamber like this in over a thousand years."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, whistling through his beak, "What is it, exactly?"

The Changeling Queen glanced around at the ever-changing luminescent murals, "History."

Varan stared up at the chamber's light source, speaking softly as he examined the blue-green luminescence.

"I was under the impression that Changelings stored their historical recounting within the Hive."

IJ nodded, "Yes.  But would you think it wise to rely only on memory for your history?  Besides that, a safeguard must exist to protect against cataclysm.  In the event enough of us die at the same time, in the same place, information can be lost from the Hive."

Skye grinned, spinning slowly in place as she spoke. 

"I would kill to have a few weeks alone with this room.  The amount of information you're storing here, and the way it's accessed... This would change the Archive Project in ways I can't even begin to describe."

IJ glared, "We don't have time for doe-eyed childish fantasy."  She snorted, and walked briskly to one side of the chamber, near the entrance.

The group followed hesitantly, with Fyrenn taking up the lead.

He watched the images wind backwards as he stepped back towards the entrance, centuries passing with each yard like a tapestry in motion, yet eerily reversed. 

Finally, as he reached IJ's side, she inclined her head towards the wall.  Fyrenn blinked, waiting for an explanation.  When none came, he stepped forward tentatively.

As he neared the wall, what seemed to be a specific decade of history sprawled out before him.  It only took him a fraction of a second to realize that the imagery was full of Gryphic figures.

He gaped silently, doing his best to intuit the meanings of the images.  It was blatantly obvious that the mural depicted a vast war in which Gryphons, Ponies, and a few others, had fought off an invasion of horrifying and breathtaking scope.

As he leaned closer, the images sub-divided once more, and he caught his breath sharply.

The invaders were clearly recognizable.  Desiccated bone welded to desiccated bone in an unholy and sickening approximation of an Equine form, bound together by a mesmerizing deep blue and purple and blue energy, eyes glowing as red as magma.

Carradan stepped up beside him, and nearly choked on his own shock, "Holy bukkin'---"

"Wisps."  

Varan stated the obvious, in a tone so flat it might as well have been the recitation of an item on a shopping list.  The other Gryphons knew him well enough to know that it was one of his ways of expressing surprise, and concern.

Skye tilted her head, "When did this happen, exactly?"

IJ sighed, and shook her head slowly. 

"A very very long time ago.  Near the time when this chamber was constructed.  This was a little over a century before the Times of Chaos, and Discord."

Kephic nodded slowly, "That would certainly explain why it doesn't appear in historical records.  Pony, Gryphon, or otherwise.  Nearly everything of the times before Discord's ended up lost or destroyed in the ensuing war of Chaos."

Fyrenn exhaled sharply, speaking in a breathless undertone as he scanned the mural yet again with his eyes.

"What we know about that time period, collectively as all Equestrian kind, could fill, what?  Maybe three pages of a book?"

Varan shook his head slightly.

"Less."

Skye chuckled, again spinning in place as she spoke.

"And all this time, it was right here.  Answers to some of the most pressing questions our historians have ever asked."

Fyrenn swiped his claw towards the murals as he voiced his thoughts aloud. 

"This...  This would mean that the Wisps have been here for a very very long time."

Kephic waggled his head back and forth as he chimed in.

"I'm more interested in the fact that we've fought a war with them once already.  A war no one remembers."

IJ inclined her head, "I told you, this is worth taking a moment to examine.  Considering what we saw during our time in the north."

Fyrenn stepped closer once more, and a final set of images subdivided before his eyes.

"It looks like this has all happened before.  And its about to happen..."

He paused, then trailed off entirely, as one of the final images caught his eye.  He shifted position, rotating to bring the panorama fully into his vision cone.  He reached out and brushed the image with one claw, stricken speechless once more by what he was seeing.

The vista depicted a Pegasus, a Unicorn, a Dragon, a Minotaur, and two Gryphons, standing together on a rocky mound.  

The Pegasus and Unicorn both had ornate gem studded peytrals that seemed oddly familiar.  

The Minotaur was holding a massive war horn to his muzzle, loosing what must have been a deafening blast from the filigree inscribed silver instrument.

The Dragon had just let fly an immense leaf-bladed spear;  The weapon had already begun to carve a vast and astonishing path of destruction through the enemy hordes.

As for the two Gryphons, the female cradled a powerful looking crossbow in both claws.  She was kneeling beside her partner, dispatching a withering storm of quarrels to protect him from the rising tide of enemies.

Lastly, the male Gryphon held aloft a great two-clawed sword, its swooping blade set aflame by the dying rays of the sun.

Fyrenn's eyes fixed immovably on the final figure.  His feathers were a shade of golden-brown not uncommon amongst Gryphons.  There seemed to be few other distinctive markings across his body, save for one.

A Blue streak crossed the bridge of his beak, flourishing out into a wave-like iridescent feather patch on both sides of his head.

The red Gryphon clenched his free claw into a fist, and squinted.  The image was maddening, like hearing the tiniest strain of notes from a song that he knew, but couldn't remember the words to.  His chest began to heave as his breath shortened.  He clenched his eyes shut for several seconds, shaking his head periodically.

At last, as if shaken loose by the internal rattling of his thoughts, a memory flashed into existence.

"I'm here to tell you something important.  To deliver a message as it were..."

Fyrenn staggered back, gasping for air.  He narrowed his eyes and exhaled sharply, whispering to himself as a name attempted to burrow its way out of some hidden compartment of his mind.

"Why are you so familiar?"

The red Gryphon stiffened as Kephic placed one claw on his shoulder, relaxing only as the present began to flood back to his senses.

The speckled Gryphon raised an eyebrow, "Who?  You look like you just saw---"

Fyrenn nodded, "A ghost?  Yes.  Though perhaps not so much a Ghost as an Angel..."

Skye's eyes widened as she trotted around to face her friend, staring up into his eyes.

"You remembered something important.  Didn't you."

Fyrenn nodded once more, swallowing and collecting his thoughts, before beginning to speak hesitantly.

"Well, you know that while I was... 'Out...' I think I experienced something.  And now I don't really have any memory of it, except for these moments of deja vu...  Well this is like that, but more.  An image.  Some sounds.  A voice."

Carradan huffed, and raised an eyebrow, interjecting with more than a little frustration in his tone.

"Well we sure 'experienced something' when you came to spouting your little rhyme there."

Fyrenn shook his head sharply, his crest-feathers becoming very unkempt in the process.  Under the lurid glow of the chamber's blue-green light, it made him look slightly manic.

"No no no...  I mean I think something very real happened while I was comatose.  Something I can't entirely account for... 
But *he* was there.  That I know."  

As if to drive his point home, he reached out and tapped at the image with one talon.

IJ snorted, "Forgive me if I withhold my confidence...  But are you implying that you saw some kind of vision?  Of someone who has been dead for nearly two thousand years?"

Fyrenn sighed, and pinched the bridge of his beak between two talons, his tone conveying a strong mix of conviction, frustration, and exhaustion.

"Yes."

The newly minted Queen chuckled harshly.

"That is not possible."

Before Fyrenn could respond, Kephic stamped one claw against the ground angrily, coming to his brother's defense with his customary irritation and swiftness. 

"It's not probable, no.  But since when have any of us even been on speaking terms with 'probable?' "

Fyrenn exhaled slowly, sweeping his gaze back and forth across the holographic tapestry.

"I wish we had time to stay.  I feel like there might be answers here..."

Kephic tilted his head to bring his gaze into line with his sibling's, his tone becoming more comforting with each word.

"We've already discovered so much!  You said it yourself;  What is about to happen has precedent.  Just knowing that is a huge advantage."

Carradan chuckled, "I'm just happy to know we won last time."

The group stood in reverent silence for nearly a minute, drinking in history.

IJ finally spoke, "This room is not going to vanish after you leave, as I'm sure you're aware."

Fyrenn shook himself, forcing his speeding train of thought to the back of his mind.

"True.  We're under the gun now, and what you've told us has even wider reaching implications than today, or tomorrow."

Skye shivered, "Well if we're too late, tomorrow might not matter all that much."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 20th, Gregorian Calendar

Minos grinned as he surveyed the room.  The structure of the warehouse was on its last legs, caked in rust and grime from years of disuse.  The roof supports had already begun to cave in, electricity was spotty, and the floor had a tendency to sweat when the temperature rose.

Minos was more concerned with the building's newest tenants than its imminent demolition.

He chuckled inwardly.  Looking out at the dozens of ragged, dirt covered, huddled bodies, an uninitiated observer would have been tempted to write the entire group off as street urchins.

No prospects, no life expectancy, and no value to society.

And yet even one of them was theoretically capable of obliterating an entire squad of trained special forces troopers, while unarmed, and walking away unscathed.

Minos smiled.  In his estimation, the seventy two children spread out before him were the epitome of soldiering, distilled and perfected.  

They could pass unnoticed wherever they wanted.  The wisest and most experienced of field commanders would severely underestimate them.  They were conditioned above all to survive, and their obedience to their directives was assured.  

Topping that, there was a guaranteed failsafe.  Minos valued that feature above all the others.  It was why he felt comfortable standing in front of all seventy two children, with only four guards for backup.

Total safety was only one command key away.

"Good morning boys and girls!"  

Minos' tone was almost cheerful, an apparent reflection of his mood.  Those among the children who knew him better recognized the emotion for what it truly was.  Outright sadism.

"The day is finally here.  I'm sure many of you have taken time out of your busy days to wonder... 'Why?'  Why are we expending all these resources to shape you, train you, and enhance you?  Wonder no longer."

Minos raised his DaTab, and casually depressed a key.  Several of the children, April included, flinched reflexively.

A large holographic display flared to life behind Minos, amid collective suppressed sighs of relief.  He gestured with one hand as he continued.

"This is the target for your first mission.  Our intelligence indicates that a terrorist group is planning a major assault.  Confidence is high, but we are the only ones with this intelligence at present."

The holographic building spun on its axis, and pivoted, to provide a top-down view.  Minos allowed his gaze to bounce from child to child.

"That means it falls upon you to defend this asset against incursion, for the next forty eight hours.  This mission is the real thing.  You will be authorized and mandated to make use of lethal force." 

Minos held up one hand, jerking it backwards towards the display, "If any Earthgov personnel, or civilians, interfere with your mission, or discover your presence, you are obligated to terminate them.  Immediately."

Minos glowered down at his perfect little weapons, his tone dipping into a deceptively saccharine range.

"Failure to protect opsec will result in expulsion from the program, and initiation of the failsafe.  And trust me when I say that I won't shed any tears.  Have I made myself clear?"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty First  Day, Celestial Calendar

"Sweet sweet air!"  

Skye turned her face directly into the rising sun, closed her eyes, and began taking in huge gulps of fresh oxygen.

Fyrenn laughed, and stretched his wings as wide as they would go, allowing the first rays of the new day's light to warm his feathers.  Several meters away, Kephic and Varan had likewise begun stretching, and checking their gear.

Stan felt a strong compulsion to dash forward, and join Skye in breathing deeply of the cold mountain air, but IJ's voice stopped him abruptly.

"Kephic told me.  About how you risked yourself to defend me."

Carradan raised one hoof, and opened his mouth, but IJ stifled his words with a glare, interjecting sharply.

"Don't.  You open your muzzle, and you're going to spout off some ridiculous pun, or evasion, or snide remark.  Just shut up and let me finish."

The salmon Pegasus sat down hard on his haunches, letting out a long, slow breath, as if venting his unspoken thoughts into the atmosphere.  IJ moved to sit down beside him.  Though she was not quite as large as an Alicorn, her new form still made Carradan feel uncomfortably outmatched.

She stared off into the distance above Fyrenn and Kephic's heads, before finally continuing.

"That's the second time in my life that someone has stepped into a situation on my behalf when they stood to gain nothing for themselves.  It goes against every instinct of survival, of natural selection, and every single thing I've ever learned about what is best for the whole, versus the individual..."

IJ turned to face Carradan, and he glimpsed something behind her eyes that he had only seen once before.  Uncertainty.

"Why?"

The Pegasus blinked once, then twice more at the Changeling's words.  She repeated herself firmly.

"Why?  When I first met you, I actually thought you might be more like me than any of the others.  Willing to do anything to survive and ensure your own safety and comfort.  Then I realized that where I was brought up to serve first my Hive, and then myself, you were not."

Carradan glared, and did his best to interrupt indignantly.

"Hey---"

IJ firmly planted one hoof on his muzzle, holding it shut as she went on. 

"Then I thought you must be exactly as the Hive had always described your kind.  Selfish.  Entirely concerned with your own needs at the expense of all else..."

The Changeling let her hoof drop, and began shaking her head slowly.

"And then I began to realize that deep down, you were like them."  

She gestured with one wing towards the Gryphons as she continued.

"I began to discover that there are many among the singleforms who are willing to be selfless for a cause, or the many.  But what still eludes me is why you would behave this way on behalf of the few, or the one."

Carradan nodded slowly, finally getting a proverbial hoof into the door with his words. 

"And now you find out your pretty picture of a perfect Hive, and the good of the many, was a lie right from the get go.  And now you're confused about the world, and the person you've become, and you're afraid of screwing up and throwing away the big chance you've just been given."

IJ raised an eyebrow, "And what would you know about that?"

Stan let out a sound halfway between a snort and a guffaw. 

"You forget that not so long ago I was tap dancin' around on two legs.  I thought I knew how the world worked.  How the game was played.  Every man for himself, no free sandwiches, yadda yadda...  Horse puckey."

He smiled and stretched, "I went through something not so different from what you went through.  I became something else.  I met folks who spun my world end over end over end.  I wasn't sure who I was, or what I was supposed to be anymore.  And you can be darn sure I was scared to death of screwing it up."

IJ shook her head, taking her turn to interrupt softly.

"But that still doesn't explain---"

Carradan grinned, and held his hoof up to her muzzle, "My turn."

The Changeling pierced him with an expression that made Stan wonder if she was actually capable of killing him with her mind, but she remained still, and he thought he detected a tiny hint of amusement twinkling in the corners of her eyes.

"The big secret I learned?  The moment it all finally clicked and made sense?  Was when I realized that there ain't no big secret at all.  It's just exactly what it looks like on the outside.  We all try to cover it over, the world tells us it isn't so, and we bang and crash around for huge chunks of our lives trying to sort it out, but in the end?"

Carradan leaned forward, smiling, as his tone softened.

"In the end, you crazy little insects were right.  Mostly.  Everything that makes anything worth anything for a living creature is about love.  Love of family, or country, or species, or even self...  But especially love of family."

IJ sat perfectly still.  Her face was the very picture of dumbstruck thought.  At last, she took a sharp breath, and spoke.

"But...  Why me?  I'm not technically part of your family, and---"

Stan rolled his eyes, interrupting with a wave of his hoof.

"Geez, you're almost as clueless as big red featherbrains over there."

The Changeling tilted her head, and began to form the words to ask what Carradan meant.  But before she could get them across her tongue, Stan abruptly leaned forward, and planted a long, slow kiss on her right cheek.

For nearly twelve seconds, there was absolute silence, broken only by the clanging sound of metal on rock as Kephic dropped his sword, beak agape, and eyes wide with shock.

If the speckled Gryphon seemed stunned, then IJ practically redefined the word into a category of its own.  Her eyes were as wide as serving trays, her muzzle hung so far down that Fyrenn wondered if it was straining the hinge to her jaw.  Her wings were both splayed wide in a reflexive gesture of surprise.

Finally, IJ snapped out of her trance.  

With an audible 'thwack!' her right hoof connected with Carradan's side, doubling the Pegasus over and knocking the wind out of him to the point that he was forced to exhale the contents of his lungs.

Before anyone could move, speak, or in any way react, IJ abruptly leaned forward and returned the kiss.

Another stunned silence followed.  

Fyrenn sat down hard, and whistled.  Skye began to laugh quietly, eventually falling face down into the scree, tears of mirth running freely down both cheeks.  Kephic knelt to retrieve his sword, inclining his head. 

"Well...  I'm not sure if they need wedding bands, medical kits..."

Varan raised an eyebrow, interjecting quietly to finish the thought.

"Perhaps a relationship counselor?"

Fyrenn let out a short, sharp, high pitched squawk.  He shook his head and glanced up at his brothers.

"All of the above.  Though if those two are really in love, then I think we should be more concerned about *our* safety.  Collateral damage is very much a thing in war."

Varan nodded slowly, "Speaking of which.  As much as I am loathe to interrupt something so...  Fascinating, we are running very short of time."

Fyrenn stood, and walked cautiously towards IJ and Stan.  Both were smiling, staring at each other in a slightly awkward, but clearly affectionate silence.

The red Gryphon stood as close to Carradan as he dared, and cleared his throat.

"We...  Uh...  We have a very long, very tiring, very grueling flight and the sooner we get started..."

Stan sighed, and glanced over his shoulder, "Yeah.  Yeah, just give me one second, ok?  Minute?  Tops?"

Fyrenn nodded, and turned to see to his gear.  Their mission mandated speed and endurance.  Lightening the load was now a top priority.

Carradan turned back to IJ, speaking softly to keep the conversation relatively private.

"What are we gonna do now?  I assume you've got to stay here..."

The Changeling nodded, "I didn't ask for this, but I won't shirk it."

Stan sighed as he carefully phrased his response. 

"See... The thing is... I don't do so well underground.  And just like you've got a responsibility to your new subjects...  I've got a responsibility to our frie...  Our Family."

IJ nodded once more, her tone curt and non-argumentative.

"Obviously."

The Pegasus shook his head, "So what then?  We say goodbye and see each other God-knows when?"

The Queen rolled her eyes, chuckling slightly as she spoke.

"Spare me.  I can only take so much drama from you in one day before I start cracking ribs."

Carradan winced.  IJ snorted, and voiced her thoughts in a more obvious and specific fashion.

"Are you implying that I intend to spend the rest of my live cloistered inside this rock?  Because you're sadly mistaken.  At the very least, I'm sure I'll need to make a journey to Canterlot relatively soon."

Stan grinned, "I'd pay to see the look on sun-butt's face when she sees new you."

IJ inclined her head, "Then be there."

Carradan inhaled, and raised his hoof, as if he were about to object.  Instead he sighed, and smiled. 

"You got it sweetheart."

The Changeling promptly hoofed him in the ribs.  More gently than before, but still with plenty of force.

"Don't call me sweetheart."

"You got it swee--- OOF!"

IJ turned to Skye, who had finally composed herself, wiping away her tears, and the dust from her mirthful roll in the gravel.

The Changeling raised an eyebrow, and proffered one hoof.

Skye paused for a moment, but then grinned, and reached out to bump it with her own hoof, as she spoke.

"You know?  You keep it up and insects might not have such a bad rep anymore."

IJ smirked as she responded. 

"Perhaps my negative opinions of unicorns were...  Mistaken.  Marginally."

The mage chuckled.

"Mhmmm.  Keep telling yourself that, and you might wake up one day and realize that you actually have friends for a change."

IJ's expression softened into a rare, genuine, pure smile.

"Perhaps I already have."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 20th, Gregorian Calendar

8703 North Drayton Street appeared to be exactly like every other high-wealth house in Vancouver;  Sleek, large, and mostly comprised of modern steel and glass arches.

Even the seventy five ton freight container in the drive was a normative sight.  

When wealthy families moved, they usually resorted to expensive measures to ensure their convenience and comfort during the process.

The only thing that seemed truly unorthodox about 8703 North Drayton Street, was the fact that none of the neighbors had seen the new occupants, in spite of the fact that the container had arrived a day earlier.

Cars had come and gone from the residence many times, but they always seemed to arrive at night, when no one was paying close attention.

The only signs of life anyone had seen during the day consisted of a pair of security guards.

The men wore gray and black uniforms with a beige stripe, and a generic red symbol.  Everyone assumed that they were simply there to safeguard the contents of the crate until the home's new owners came to take up residence.

The only point of contention for that theory was the fact that the men were armed with military-grade RACs.  

That, and the fact that if anyone had bothered to do a net search, they would have learned that 'Niose Security Services' did not exist.
> Chapter 21
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 21st, Gregorian Calendar

Martins surveyed the room carefully, moving her eyes from station to station.  Even though there were only a dozen other people in the room, the atmosphere was charged with an electric tang normally only felt in larger groups.

She placed her hands on her hips, and stepped to the edge of the dais.  The rear of the space was mostly occupied with the elevated platform, on either side the surface melded into sets of stairs that led into the rest of the room.

The opposite wall was taken up with an immense holoscreen, and the remainder of the intervening space was filled with computer workstations.

Martins cleared her throat, and the men and women at the workstations ceased their fevered preparations.

To her left Astris and two other Humans in business suits stood waiting, their eyes fixed expectantly on her.

"Good morning everyone.  I'm sure you're all as excited to be here as I am, and I'm sure we're all more than ready to see the results of our long labors.  So let's not mince words.  FTV-01 Flight Controllers, begin pre-launch checklist."

The Flight Director, a young Human in his early thirties, rose from his workstation.

"Pre-launch checklist.  Booster?"

"Go."

"Launchcon?"

"Go."

"FIDO?"

"Go."

"GNC?"

"Go."

"FTL?"

"Go."

"Sublight?"

"Go."

"OCO?"

"Go."

"Telemetry?"

"Go."

The man nodded, and took his seat again, "Final comm check with ESTeS?"





The Extra-Solar Telemetry Satellite had been travelling through space for nearly a decade.  Even with the most powerful advances in sublight propulsion the craft was still hobbled in terms of its ability to cross the vast distances of the void with any sort of alacrity.

At last, however, ESTeS had reached its destination just outside the Kuiper belt.

The vehicle was no larger than any of the other space probes that had reached the same milestone, but it was considerably more sophisticated.  

The main body looked like nothing so much as a hexagonal prism, capped at one end with an engine port, and the other with a bevy of instruments and antennae.

Twin radiator panels were unfurled from two opposite sides of the body, and a small octagonal protrusion on the dorsal surface provided the small amount of extra room needed for the onboard fusion reactor.

Very little information had been sent to or from ESTeS during its voyage;  Merely daily confirmations that it was on course, and intact.

But at last, the day to fulfill its purpose had arrived.

For the first time, the satellite received a more complex set of instructions.  Bring systems up to full, open main sensing dish, activate stabilization gyros, and run self diagnostics.

It took less than a minute for the device to accomplish the requisite tasks.

ESTeS sent the results back to the Genesist station on the ground.  All systems were nominal.





"ESTeS final comm check;  Go!"

The Flight Director nodded, "Orbital Control Officer, request final verification of our launch window."

The woman leaned forward in her seat and tapped at several of her touchscreens.  A signal was sent to the AI in charge of Earth's orbital traffic control.

"Final verification is confirmed.  Our launch window is open and affirmed clear."

The Flight Director tapped his own screen for several seconds, then fixed his gaze on the large holoscreen, "Begin final countdown."

The building's AI began announcing over the PA in a stiff monotone.

"Final launch countdown initiated.  T-minus ten, nine, eight, seven, six..."

The Booster engineer depressed a large physical button on his console. 

"Ignition sequence has started."

The man his left nodded, and pressed several switches on his own panel.

"Launch rail is charged."

"...four, three, two, one..."

The Flight Director flicked open a clear switch-cover on his console, and depressed his thumb firmly into the toggle.

"Launch."





The barren African plans shook as if the Earth were about to split, and judgement day had come.

For all the technological advancements of a century, Humans were still using fairly ordinary chemical rockets to propel their creations into space.  The Winnowing had held back advancement in this area above nearly all others.

Nonetheless, and in spite of the rarity of chemical fuels, the Genesists had managed to acquire the necessary raw materials, and engineering prowess, to assemble a launch system for the Sylph.

The craft dwarfed all previous drone vehicles that had ever been sent into orbit.  Positioned vertically in its sunken launch tube, it was surrounded by four immense solid rocket boosters.

Beneath the man craft, a second liquid-fuel stage ensured that there would be enough propellant for a full orbital injection burn.  After that, the mission relied on the vehicle's prototype sublight impulse thruster banks.  If they functioned as expected, the door would be open to replacing the entire chemical and rail launch mechanism for future flights.

Fire and smoke billowed from the bottom of the ship into a series of ventilation tubes for nearly five seconds, before the monstrosity finally began to lift free of its gravitational shackles, assisted by a kick from a magnetic launch rail.

In spite of its slow start, it only took Sylph three seconds to clear the launch bay.

Another five seconds later, it was going nearly the speed of sound, riding a rapidly expanding cloud of gray, red, and orange towards the dead sky.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Second Day, Celestial Calendar

Luna stopped short as she entered the throne room.  Despite her centuries of experience, she had never witnessed anything quite so jarringly amusing as the image of three Gryphons, a Pegasus, and a Unicorn draped snoring over various pieces of vintage royal furniture.

Varan was the first to notice her arrival.  As soon as he moved, the other Gryphons woke reflexively.

The Alicorn raised an eyebrow, keeping her voice low as she spoke.

"I am sorry I could not come any sooner.  The messenger told me it was urgent, but the nature of my negotiation was sensitive..."

Fyrenn waved one claw in the air, "Trust me, we needed the sleep more than I can describe."

Luna sniffed, and nodded. 

"Hmmm.  You certainly look, and smell, as if you haven't had much time for pleasantries recently."

Kephic nodded, yawning as he responded. 

"No.  We haven't."

Varan glanced at the door behind the monarch as he opened his beak once more.

"We do not wish to appear rude, but it would be best if your sister were present for this conversation as well.  We have grave and urgent news."

Luna shook her head, raising one eyebrow slightly as a tiny hint of confusion, and concern crept into her voice.

"My sister is not here."

Fyrenn stiffened, his one-word response emerging with a charged inflection.

"What?"

"She traveled to Earth, nigh on two days ago.  She is attending a conference of your world's leaders."

The red Gryphon exhaled sharply, continuing slowly as he searched for the best way to break the bad news.

"Then please listen closely to what we have to relay.  We need to leave as soon as possible.  Her life is in grave danger, and yours probably is too."

Luna's eyes widened, "You have my attention."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 21st, Gregorian Calendar

"Prepare for final stage separation on my mark."

The Flight Director glanced down at the timer on his display as he counted down the last seconds.

"Three, two, one...  Mark."

The upper right corner of the holoscreen displayed a spectacular view from Sylph's dorsal rear camera, and the ground team watched with baited breath as the lower liquid fuel stage fell away in a shower of ice.

The booster technician smiled, "We have good separation.  Showing no structural or mechanical cautions."

The Flight director nodded, and turned his gaze to another station. 

"Sublight, begin your startup checklist."

The technician, an older female Unicorn, returned the affirmative gesture as she spoke.

"Opening impulsive drive safety covers."

The Flight Director watched intently as the twin blocking panels irised away on the holoscreen.  The Telemetry officer raised his voice, "Showing positive confirmation.  Drive safety covers are in the open and locked position."

The Unicorn reached out with her magic field and depressed several more keys, "Running coolant system activation and re-check sequence."

"Coolant system values are nominal;  Flow control valves responding within tolerances, temperature gauges responding accurately to test conditions."

The Flight Director tapped a short sequence into his console, then pointed up at the main screen, "GNC, enter final instructions for breakaway trajectory.  Sublight, begin impulsive drive ignition sequence and standby for full burn."





"Sir?  You have an incoming encrypted transmission.  Enigma-tier."

Mr. Utah glanced up at the cabin ceiling as he phrased his response.  The habit was commonplace for those who spent any amount of time on ships or submarines.

The reduced 'silent running' lighting, which served to make view screens more readily visible and to remind sailors to keep noise to a minimum,  also served to frame the man's head in a lurid ring of cigarette smoke.

"Bridge it to my terminal.  Authentication SCR-five-oh-six Jackson.  One one four three."

"Bridging, standby."

Mr. Utah leaned forward and tapped a control on the steel surface of the desk.  A screen rose from a concealed compartment, powering on to display a fisted red Human hand, wreathed in knotted cord.

The loading splash abruptly dissolved into a progress bar, and a series of complex cryptographic alphanumeric strings in a debug console.

Mr. Utah glanced around at the bulkheads as the progress bar marched inexorably towards its conclusion.  He idly wondered how much of his life he had sacrificed for the Human race by spending time cooped up within the antiseptic, oppressive, gray confines of ships, bases, and the Retribution itself.

Though it was one of the largest submarines made before the winnowing, it still felt small inside.  Unlike modern Earthgov vessels, Retribution's keel had been laid down in a time before cheap composites and nanofabrication.

Rather than taking advantage of modern technology to open up more crew space, the HLF had opted to simply cram more and more sophisticated machinery into the bowels of the craft.

Mr. Utah firmly believed the vessel was more than capable of taking on a lone Earthgov ship, even though that was not its main purpose.

Much of the interior was full of AI server chip racks.  Secondary to mobile command and control, the boat often served as a way to ferry operatives and VIP's to and fro secretly.  

Offensively the ship was equipped with fifty multi-purpose missile tubes.  Relics of a nuclear age, the VLS system had since been retrofitted for more modern AI-guided MIRV-style conventional shaped warheads on magnetic launchers.

The system had never been tested before, but Mr. Utah knew it was only a matter of time.  An opportunity would soon present itself.  The missiles were hardly anything like the world-ending power the vessel had once been designed to carry, but they were deadly in their own way.

As much as series of nuclear warheads would have been an excellent deterrent to Earthgov meddling, the cabinet knew that it was better to avoid the entanglements that radioactive isotopes presented.  

Earthgov satellites could spot the signature from a single gram of enriched plutonium through over twenty thousand feet of sea-water with centimeter-perfect accuracy.  Inasmuch as the Retribution was generally invisible to Earthgov ships when submerged, the reverse was also true, and if she were detected and targeted there would be precious little warning.

From the outside, Retribution looked like a strange cross between a blue whale, and a relic of Russian neo-Soviet power-mongering.  From the inside, it felt like a titanium coffin filled with strangling, stale, lukewarm air.  

But somewhere betwixt the outer shell, and the inner spartan furnishings, Mr. Utah knew that a great deal of purloined modern hardware was silently waiting for its chance to strike a blow in Humanity's name.

The computer shook Mr. Utah from his musing with an abrupt, harsh tone.

He fixed his gaze on the monitor as the face of his agent sprang into existence, "That's not the color I would have chosen."

The agent shrugged and rolled his eyes.

"Me either, but I didn't get consulted on the matter."

Mr. Utah nodded slowly, and leaned in closer.

"Report."

The agent glanced over his shoulder reflexively, then leaned in towards his own screen.

"Everything is proceeding according to opspec.  If they've plugged the drive in when they said they did, then the system is going to crash right on target, give or take fifty seconds."

"And the command link?"  Mr. Utah took a sharp pull on his cigarette as he waited for the answer.

"Still functioning on Phoenix.  If you can really pull off a situation that major, then I can definitely trip the system over the edge and get the Action Link to open.  It looks like they haven't changed much in the way of the process in over a century."

Mr. Utah exhaled slowly, then raised an eyebrow as he continued plying the operative.

"Remaining enemy assets on site?"

The Agent smirked.  The expression was incredibly disquieting given his unique facial structure.

"Skeleton crew only.  Once the automated def-grid goes down, and I start cracking skulls from the inside?  The fire team is free to walk straight in.  Expect minimal resistance."

Mr. Utah raised one eyebrow, "Worst case scenario?"

"The drive takes another minute to get hold of the base AI, and resistance from inside delays access to the console.  That would put us back by roughly three minutes.  Absolute maximum."

"Acceptable." 

Mr. Utah took another, final draught of his cigarette, before leaning in over the desk once more.

"From this point on until Ragnar begins, you are under a communications blackout.  We can't risk you being discovered this late in the final preparatory phase.  Follow your instructions.  Take no prisoners."

The agent nodded, "Understood."  He stood back from his screen, and raised a fist in salute, "My life for Humanity."

Mr. Utah raised his fist in kind, "Humanus Pro Vita."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Second Day, Celestial Calendar

Carradan wheezed, resisting the urge to cough outright in order to avoid loosing momentum.

"I... I think I'm gonna puke!"

Wordlessly, Kephic dipped and wheeled to come under the Pegasus.  The speckled Gryphon rose carefully, allowing the exhausted Pony to collapse onto his back.

"Oof!"  Kephic grimaced, glowering over his right shoulder.

"I'm warning you right now; This is the first and *last* time I do you this favor.  You still need to loose a few stones."

Carradan chuckled weakly, still gulping in vast wheezing lungfuls of air.

"Thanks."

Kephic grunted, "Don't mention it.  Ever."

Varan spoke without taking his gaze off the horizon.

"In his defense, he has surpassed his own maximum record for sustained flight on minimal sleep and food by over a day, and that after intensive exertion"

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and sighed.

"To be fair, we did take an hour to sleep and eat, and we left all our armor behind."

From her position on Varan's back, Skye yawned, and shook her head, speaking softly.

"Well, speed is the idea now, isn't it?"

Varan exhaled slowly, "Our speed does not concern me.  What concerns me is that we have traveled far, and swiftly, for quite some time.  We fought a difficult battle, and have continued our arduous pace, all on very little food and sleep."

Stan coughed and blinked.

"And?"

Fyrenn grimaced as he caught on to his brother's implication, "And it's almost guaranteed that we will have very little time to rest and eat before we are thrown into battle once more."

Carradan grunted, "Isn't that par for the course for you guys?"

Kephic glowered over his shoulder.

"It doesn't mean we have to like it."

Fyrenn chuckled, "Really?  My drill instructor used to say that pain was the only way to know your life was worth living.  That, and something about how what didn't kill you would make excellent dinner.  You guys would've liked her."

Kephic chuckled, "Would have?"

The red Gryphon sighed, "Yeah.  She went up in a grenade attack on an anti-terror op almost...  Oh...  Six years ago now.  Apparently she tossed the first one back, hit the second one into a storm drain, then grabbed the third and ran straight into the enemy gun nest.  We put twenty three caskets into the sea.  Hers, and twenty two unmarked body bags full of the scum of the Earth."

Varan exhaled and shook his head, "And she was your combat instructor?"

Fyrenn nodded, grinning wryly.

"For military basic, and special forces induction.  We lost touch after I went sea-borne for mobile ops and surface warfare cross-training.  Then she showed up one very unpleasant day in Budapest with a mission, and that was that..."

Carradan's head sunk slightly, "'I'm sorry."

Fyrenn shook his head adamantly, "Don't be.  Grandma always told me that we should never feel sorry when our own die well.  Maybe sad for a time, but never sorry.  We all choose this life.  We know damn well that part of that deal and duty is the knowledge that we'll probably be asked to sacrifice our life."

Skye glared, "Don't you even start.  I am not going through that again."

The red Gryphon let out a sharp, screeching laugh, "Oh really?!  Says the one who pretended to be dead for---"

"Yeah yeah.  Can we just promise that no one else is going to die?  Fake or otherwise?"  The Unicorn locked eyes with Fyrenn pleadingly.  He glanced away towards the stars.

A long and awkward silence, drenched in moonlight and depression, reigned.  The only sound was the tandem rhythmic wing strokes of the three Gryphons, beating out a sharp swift tattoo.

Carradan sighed, rolling his eyes lazily.

"Well gee.  You guys are just all *kinds* of optimistic and cheery ain'tcha?"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 21st, Gregorian Calendar

"This is Celia Aldrich, VZC eyewitness news, reporting live from Vancouver Northamerizone.  After arriving via diplomatic aircraft over the past few days, Earthgov's newly reshuffled ruling Council has entered into its first day of closed-door talks with the ruler of the Equestrian Nation."

The reporter gestured to the expansive building behind her, framed against the gray early-morning sky in a halo of police and military vehicle flasher lights.

"As you can see, security at this event has been a paramount concern.  This is the closest the press has been allowed to the new Government Complex in downtown, and ever since yesterday the city has been under lockdown.  Everyone entering and leaving is passing through military checkpoints."

The woman gestured to the camera, knowing that her image would soon be replaced with pre-recorded footage that she would need to narrate.

"In light of the scuffle between JRSF units and a small PER cell only a few hours ago, perhaps the added layers of protection are necessary.  However, the sheer scope of the measures being taken, including the deployment of an entire light carrier, have led some to speculate that either the topics of discussion are incredibly sensitive...  Or that Earthgov is expecting this week to be extremely eventful on the tactical front."

Celia brightened her smile artificially as a red light on the camera's front-facing holopad blinked twice to inform her that her image was once more live.

"Either way, residents have been advised to stay in their homes and restrict travel to the bare necessities.  Major road intersections and ramps, as well as all public transit terminals, are under complete Military Police protection.  If you live in the Vancouver area, please try to limit your time spent away from home to keep the streets clear for diplomatic and military vehicles.  Reporting live from downtown Vancouver, I'm Celia Aldrich.  Back to you Mark." 





"Impulsive burn complete.  Shutting down sublight drives."

The Flight Director glanced up at the holoscreen.  Under the incredibly powerful impetus of the new sublight technology, Sylph had put nearly as much distance between itself and Earth in a matter of minutes, as the Apollo capsules had after two entire days of travelling.

"Begin pre-FTL checklist."

A flurry of activity erupted amongst the workstations.  Councilor Martins closed her eyes, and drank in the sound of organized chaos.

"Arming engine coverplates.  Armed."

"Retracting nacelle coverplates."

"Switching drive coolant to secondary channels."

"Testing discharge on main capacitor banks."

"Pre-initializing heatsinks."

"Running initial nacelle charge sequence."

"Opening navigational deflection field dish."

"Nacelle pre-ignite sequence has returned all green."

"Nav deflection fields charged to full."

"GNC variables finalized.  Jump computer is returning valid signal."

The Flight Director glanced up at Martins.

"Ma'm?  We're ready here.  Would you do the honors?"

Martins inhaled deeply, straightening the jacket to her suit reflexively.  She stepped forward, and placed both hands firmly on the rail in front of her.

She cast her gaze from face to face, offering a moment of non-verbal encouragement to each flight engineer in turn.  At last, she stood back, and placed her hands firmly on her hips.

"Engage."
> Chapter 22
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 21st, Gregorian Calendar

The tac-con center was absolutely silent, save for the thrum of the air filtration systems.

Normally, when the entire command section of the HLF was in the same room, there was a constant buzz of hushed conversation.  The five men and women were usually only within a thousand miles of each other on two days out of every year.  There was always some aspect of business that needed tending to.  Some unfinished plot, or favor owed.

From his position beside the main control console, Mr. Stalin surveyed his four silent comrades, and the veritable army of communications and telemetry technicians surrounding them.

Something on the scale of Ragnar required simultaneous co-ordination down to the minute for fire-teams, infiltrators, and conventional attack assets across the entire globe.

Ragnar was undoubtedly the single largest operation the Human Liberation Front had ever undertaken, and easily the most important.  The gravity of that sentiment pervaded the mood in the room.

From the central holotank console, it was easy to see the room's eight walls.  The four that pointed to the cardinal directions of the compass were given over to three-story tall holoscreens.  The remaining, much smaller interspersed wall segments housed the entryways.

The giant screens were each taken up primarily with maps of portions of the earth.  Surrounding the cartographs was a bevy of data from helmet cameras, sensor arrays, and computer infiltration programs.

Mr. Stalin watched intently as the large digital clocks in the lower left corners of each screen rolled over on the hour.

He cleared his throat, instantly garnering the attention of every person in the room.

"My fellow Humans.  Never before has our way of life faced such a dire threat.  And for decades, you have all fought to protect Human interests.  To defend the status quo that our species has earned with blood, sweat, and tears spilled over millennia of struggle with ourselves, and our planet."

Mr. Stalin's voice was firm, striking a tone somewhere between fierce defiance, and strong rebuke.  He gazed out across the room, hands clasped against the edge of the holotank for emphasis as he leaned forward.

"Finally.  After all these years.  After all the lost souls, all the dark days, and sleepless nights...  After watching beings from another world take away our choices.  Our lives.  Our assets.  Our political influence...  Tomorrow, we take back what belongs to us."

To emphasize his words further, Mr. Stalin slammed one fist into the surface of the holotank, generating ripples in the three dimensional translucent data suspended above it.

"Tomorrow, we will put a permanent end to the threat.  We will kill the snake, by cutting off the heads.  For a long time, the devil's own angels have led our populace astray, dictated the policies of our government, brainwashed our media, and sent their allies and lackeys to lay waste to any who would not bow to their diseased herd mentality."  

There was a muted, but emotional round of nods, grunts of assent, and fists slammed into open palms.

Mr. Stalin gestured up towards the schematic displayed in the holotank.

"Well tomorrow?  Tomorrow we raise up the hammer passed down to us by those who inspired our ideals.  Tomorrow, we put an end to the so called angels of the sun and moon.  Tomorrow? We send them back to the devil."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Second Day, Celestial Calendar

Fyrenn shook himself violently, eliciting a yelp of surprise from Skye.  He glanced over his shoulder, flattening his ears sheepishly.

"Sorry.  I almost dropped off for a second there."

The Unicorn giggled nervously, squeezing at Fyrenn's shoulder blades with her front hooves to maintain balance.

"I thought you guys could sleep in the air."

Kephic nodded, chuckling slightly as he explained.

"Sure.  But when we do, we have a tendency to roll and yaw unexpectedly with the breeze to maintain direction without waking up,"  He glanced back at Carradan, who was still fast asleep between his wings, "And that's not great for anything back there that isn't strapped down."

Skye snorted, "Fat lots of good that does me if you shake me off into the ocean in the process of staying awake."

Fyrenn glowered, "You try flying for this many hours straight in my condition."

Varan abruptly rose to a position between Kephic and Fyrenn, "I thought you said you enjoyed pain."

The red Gryphon rolled his eyes skyward, taking in the pure baby blue of the dawn-lit vault. 

"I said that's what my drill instructor tried to instill in me.  I never said it worked."

Kephic chuckled, "You signed on for a position in a dangerous protective detail, harbored ambitions of flying dangerous aircraft into combat zones,  signed up for an experimental possibly lethal program, and and you intentionally spend the majority of your free time since then either getting beaten to a pulp by Brelik in the training ring, or out and about with us looking for impossible odds to beat."

Fyrenn stared at his brother for several seconds, an expression of abject confusion plastered to his face.  Finally, he perked up one ear, and spoke.

"How is any of that painful?"

Skye groaned, "That.  That right there is your problem."

Fyrenn was on the cusp of phrasing a witty reply, when Kephic raised a claw, and pointed towards the horizon.

Speaking of rest, it looks like we might get some sooner rather than later."

The Gryphons turned their eyes back to their direction of travel.  A faint glow was slowly rising over the sea.  Unlike the natural golden-red tones of the rising sun, the light possessed a strong halon-orange artificiality.

Fyrenn murmured to himself quietly, "I wonder just how close they are to loosing the first buildings..."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 21st, Gregorian Calendar

If sound could propagate in space, then the ESTeS satellite would have been subjected to a thunderclap loud enough to shatter every window in a thirty mile radius.

Despite the absence of a medium for the auditory shockwave to travel though, the intense burst of blue-green light went completely unhindered, blinding the satellite's visible-light cameras.

Less than a microsecond later, a wave of invisible radiation swept over ESTeS' sensors.  As the onboard computer began to sift and compress the data for transmission back to Earth, the external cameras finally managed to adjust to the dazzling display of aquamarine, which had begun to show signs of fading.

From the spray of color a sleek silvery-gray swoop of a shape emerged.

As soon as the radiation had died down sufficiently, Sylph established contact with the satellite and dumped a massive stream of in-flight telemetry data to the transmission buffers.

ESTeS was not designed to analyze the information.  The ship might have been whole, or split into a dozen pieces, and the onboard computer wouldn't have internally registered the difference.  ESTeS existed only to provide external data recording functionality, and a reliable transmission platform.

Once it had taken in data, both from Sylph and from its own instruments, for over a minute, ESTeS compressed everything in the buffers, and sent the entirety of it as a giant burst transmission.





"Receiving data packets!"

Martins stiffened as a tense moment of relative stillness dawned.  Astris shuffled his hooves impatiently, staring up at the main holoscreen with wide, expectant eyes.

The Flight Director paused, then pressed a series of keys slowly.  As the last stroke fell, an image blinked onto the main screen.

The view was slightly distorted, as a result of radiation, aperture overexposure, and the amount of compression used in the transmission.  But the picture was clear enough to speak for itself.

Framed against a dazzling bed of stars the silver-gray curves of the Sylph dominated the center of the screen.

The Flight Director smiled as he glanced up at Martins.

"Initial readings indicate all systems are nominal.  Radiators have deployed, and the coolant system is functioning at capacity.  It looks like there are no serious cautions."

Before the man could finish speaking, the room erupted into frenzied bouts of applause, spontaneous embraces, and deafening shouts.

Martins smiled down on the revelry.  Once the majority of the group's initial adrenaline rush had been expended, she raised her hands for silence.

"Ladies and gentlemen!  Congratulations on what seems to be a resoundingly successful test flight.  As valuable as the remote data we have collected will no doubt prove;  Ultimately, we still need to bring Sylph home before we can make a complete assessment.  Strap in, and start the pre-return checklists."





"Good morning swabbies.  What's it look like outside?"  

Sorven stifled a yawn with one clenched fist as she mounted the final set of stairs into the Blue Ridge CIC.

The Captain raised an eyebrow, glancing over his shoulder with a mixed expression of mirth, and mild disapproval.  He shifted in his seat, and then gestured to the main bank of windows as the general moved to stand beside the command chair.

"Pea soup is what it looks like.  Gray fog here, a little smog there, and just to make you even more grateful for the roof, a touch of patchy drizzle."

Sorven glanced down at the main holotank, which was fixed to a zoomed-out tactical display of the city.  Small colored icons indicated the presence of fire teams, protection details, tanks APCs, patrol VTOLs, and even a pair of Scythe fighters circling high above.

She sighed and tilted her head slightly, trying to inject a sense of chipper relaxation into her tone.

"Look on the bright side.  Terrorists hate being out in bad weather too."

The Captain snorted, "Yeah, almost as much as they love forcing us to go out in it to find them.  Did you know that under-equipped enemy forces are over ten times as likely to act if they have the cover of foul conditions?"

Sorven strode down towards the bridge's lower deck, and flopped into an empty seat.

"You are such a ray of sunshine skipper.  I might even have to crack open a window."

The helm officer, a young woman who couldn't have been more than twenty four years old, shook her head, "With respect ma'am;  They don't open."

Sorven snorted, "What kind of sham-boat are you people running here anyways?"

The Captain smirked, "The kind where if a smarmy landlubber officer gets keel-hauled 'accidentally,' no one is going to testify as a witness on behalf of the prosecutors at the enquiry."

The general rolled her eyes, "You folks really know how to take the fun out of a bad morning."

The helmsman smiled, and murmured into her console.

"Go navy."





Fyrenn whistled a long, slow, descending tone of emotional shock.  Given the whipping westerly breeze, and the altitude, he didn't even bother to damp the volume.

From her position between his wings, Skye craned her neck to get a better view.  As she saw the subject of her friend's thoughts, she repeated the whistling tone, and spoke softly under her breath.

"You said it."

Spread out below the group, a five-hundred yard strip of shallow ocean water terminated abruptly on one side with the Barrier, and on the other side at the port of New York.

The ceaseless shimmering expanse of space-time differential was so close to the city, that sunlight, and even weather effects, were passing unimpeded into Manhattan.  A two-block perimeter near the wharves had been almost entirely shut-down, save for the essential structures and systems connected to the port.

The dark band of abandoned, cordoned-off buildings left Fyrenn with a distinct lump in his throat.  There was an eerie, oppressive, fear-laden aspect to the myriad darkened windows.  It looked almost as if some sort of creeping black tumor had sprouted amidst the otherwise life-filled bustling halos of light and motion.

The image had, on the other side of the barrier, been too distorted to make out the true nature, and scope, of the situation.  But now that the group was through to the Earth-side, the scale of the crisis was fully apparent.

To the north, the curve of the barrier swept away to a point where it had already intersected with the uninhabited lands around Maine, and Nova Scotia.  To the south, it curved away into the Atlantic, increasing the gap between the glittering energy field, and the coast with every mile.

New York's harbor itself was nearly devoid of ships.  With space at a premium, the military had clearly opted to lock down the area to prevent collisions.  A pair of destroyers sat at the entrance to the sea-lanes, guns pointed watchfully out over the water.

Fyrenn smiled wistfully as he spotted a familiar designator on the tower of the second ship;  DDG-3257 - UES Indianapolis.

He gestured with a claw, and glanced back at Skye.

"Look!  It's my old office."

The Unicorn wrinkled her nose, "Looks cramped.  And gray."

The red Gryphon chuckled, adopting a slightly defensive cadence in his response.

"Sure.  But she can go invisible under hundreds of feet of water for months on end, throw a shell hard enough to pierce a mountain, and her armor is twice-again as durable as solid granite."

Kephic pointed towards another small group of craft, "It looks like they're not letting much through besides newfoal transports and critical shipments."

The Gryphons watched with fascination as a small hydrofoil tugboat guided an Equestrian galleon towards the barrier.

Due to the extreme nature of the spatial lensing effect, an error of even a few meters when entering could result in a change in position of dozens of miles on the other side.  As a result, a pair of large buoys had been set up just before the edge of the barrier.

Guided by GPS, and sporting enormous flashing red light beacons, they marked the best entry vector to avoid becoming unnecessarily displaced upon transit.

Varan jerked his head towards the still-inhabited portions of the island. 

"Where to then?"

Fyrenn pointed to a dip between two immense mega skyscrapers.

"The Fort.  They've got a dedicated combat net connection."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, flattening his ears against a particularly sharp, cold gust of rain-laden wind.

"I don't think we can trust the information we have to the wider world just yet."

Varan shook his head, "No, but we can certainly appraise ourselves of the current situation."

Fyrenn nodded, "Exactly.  Besides, Hutch is probably there.  We know we can rely on him to get us transport, equipment, and anything else we're gonna need."

Carradan smiled, "I wonder how the old Rambo is doing these days."

Kephic snorted, "Probably being driven out of his mind by the responsibility of evacuating a city this size."

Fyrenn banked sharply to line up with the direction of a large thoroughfare.  As the others swung into line behind him, he tensed the muscles in his shoulders.

"Hang tight, and keep your head as low as you can."

Skye obliged, tightening her grip on Fyrenn's neck with both front hooves, and pressing her head against the joint between his wings, "You're not gonna make me regret coming with you...  Are you?"

The red Gryphon smiled wolfishly.

"Nah.  Everyone likes to go fast.  Some people just don't know it 'til they try it."

Before Skye could question the meaning, or veracity, of the words, Fyrenn tucked in his wings and began to trade altitude for speed at a blistering pace.

Air began to pass over the pair at howling speeds.  The noise was intensified by the strange pattern of drag Skye's body created.  Fyrenn could feel the peculiar changes in his flight characteristics grow more acute, proportionate to his increase in velocity.

For her part, Skye squinted fiercely and tried to resist the attempts of air friction to rip her off the Gryphon's back, and send her plunging to the streets below.

Even though the Unicorn's presence severely hampered Fyrenn's usual top speed, the city still rushed up to meet the pair at nearly a hundred miles an hour.  Skyscrapers that had previously been relatively no larger than a thumb talon were suddenly incalculably huge walls of an awe-inspiring steel and glass canyon.

As Kephic, Varan, and Carradan did their best to keep pace, lower Manhattan passed in a streak of beautiful lights and reflections.  To the Gryphons, and Stan, it was a fairly familiar experience.  To Skye's less speed-tuned eyes, it was a mesmerizing elongated blur of color, light, and sound.

VTOLs above, road vehicles below, and windows lit by a billion LED light fixtures to either side, formed their own strange and wonderful kaleidoscope.

Less than a minute after it had begun, however, the experience was over.  Fyrenn altered the cant of his wings, slowly and subtly, allowing his drag characteristics to bring him down to a manageable landing speed at a rate that put almost no strain on his bones and muscles.

By the time he was going slow enough to land safely with the extra weight of his passenger, the roof of Fort Hamilton's central building was directly beneath him.

As he dipped one wing, and spun lazily down to a soft landing on the steel and concrete surface, his brothers followed suit.  After a moment, Carradan likewise came rocketing down, having had considerably less success controlling his fall in Earth's magic-deprived environs.

Fyrenn chuckled.  It still left him with a sense of wonder to consider the way in which magic affected Pegasus flight characteristics and abilities.  While even the best Equine flyer was many orders of magnitude short of a Gryphon's agility and endurance, the raw speed they could attain in a brief sprint put some hypersonic aircraft to shame.

Assuming they had access to ambient magic.

To say nothing of the fact that their lift-capacity was unparalleled, thanks to their ability to alter the relationship between the mass of any object they touched, and gravity itself.

Amusingly, placing an inexperienced Pegasus in a magic deprived environment often led to highly entertaining and unforeseen results.

Skye rolled off Fyrenn's back, and gasped for air, staring up at the sky from whence she had just come with wide eyes, and a heaving chest.

"I'd forgotten just how...  Insane that was."

Kephic chuckled, raising an eyebrow as he came to rest.

"You should see him when he isn't carrying anything.  I don't know how he does it, but somehow he gains an extra burst of speed here in Human cities."

Fyrenn winked, "Skyscrapers aren't just for living in.  Go read up on ground effect, and induced drag.  Instincts will teach you a lot about flying, but Humans have learned a few nifty tricks too over centuries of building aircraft."

Varan nodded,  leaning over to speak to Skye in a faux conspiratorial whisper.

"He already learned that the hard way when he bet Fyrenn two weeks of extra meat rations on the outcome of a friendly race."

Fyrenn smiled, and inclined his head at Kephic, "If you want to try again, you're welcome to give it your best shot."

Kephic glared.  The way in which a smile tugged at one corner of his beak, his ears remained vertical, and one eyebrow lifted ever so slightly, betrayed his suppressed mirth.

"Sure thing.  Just as soon as I figure out how you're cheating."

Skye giggled, still wheezing from the adrenaline rush of her unique passenger experience.

"It's not cheating.  It's Physics."

Kephic redirected his friendly glower at the Unicorn, while Fyrenn and Varan moved to open the roof access hatch.

"Don't try to use your fancy science terms on me Pony.  In a flat out race in open Equestrian skies he and I are dead even.  But whenever we come here?  He's always pulling ahead.  Cheating."

Skye snorted and trotted lazily over to the open accessway.

"Science."





April sighed morosely, and squinted up into the vaguely acidic mist of raindrops.  She pulled her jacket tighter around her shoulders, as if the gesture would somehow make up for the thin worn nature of the fabric, and generate a small increase in trapped body heat.

Sonya paced quietly behind her sister, glancing out over her shivering form every so often towards the roof of the building they had been tasked with observing.

Night was falling, and she knew that they would have to find better shelter soon to avoid hypothermia.

She turned to survey the landscape of the roof they had been assigned.  She was so lost in thought that it took her almost three seconds to respond to April's insistent voice.

"Sonya!  Look!  Look!"

She spun around to see April, dancing on the edge of the roof, outstretched finger pointed at the building they had been instructed to protect.

Sonya darted forward, and squinted into the rain.  She expected to see some sign of attempted forced entry, or struggle, or sabotage.  When she realized what she was actually seeing, she sighed and shook her head slowly.

Three Gryphons, a Pegasus, and a Unicorn, had landed on the flat portion building's roof, and were conversing as two of them unlocked one of the access hatches.

April stared down at the group, transfixed to the point that she seemed utterly immovable.  As one of the Gryphons chuckled, she smiled wistfully, and turned to glance at her elder sister.

Sonya knew what was coming before the words even left April's lips.

"Come on!  How bad could they really be?  They seem so...  Happy together...  If we run now, we can catch them before they close the---"

Sonya reached forward, and softly placed one finger on her sister's lips as her voice began to edge dangerously close to tones of hysteria.

She placed an arm around her younger sibling's shoulders, and guided her gently towards the shelter of an air duct overhang, "It's going to be a long, cold, night."

As she quietly followed Sonya into the relatively dry space, April did her best to hide the tears amongst the droplets of rain on her cheeks.





"My God.  You are a sight for sore eyes."  Hutch grasped one of Fyrenn's forelegs firmly in a medieval style handshake, leaning forward into a warm half-embrace to complete the gesture.

Fyrenn smiled widely.

"The feeling is mutual.  In more ways than you know."

Hutch caught the implication in the Gryphon's tone, and took an abrupt step back.  His eyes narrowed as his gaze swept across the rest of the party.

"I've seen that look before.  What have you gotten yourselves into this time?"

Kephic shook his head, "Not just us."

Varan inclined his head, "We are the bearers of dire and urgent news."

The General sighed, and collapsed into his desk chair.

"And here I thought I couldn't possibly find anything more pressuring than trying to move a gazillion people inside two months.  Go on then.  Fire away."

Fyrenn edged towards the window to get himself some breathing room.  Hutch's office was large, but not quite large enough to comfortably accommodate three Gryphons, two Ponies, and a Human, simultaneously.

"The whole story is a lot longer, and more involved, than we have time to re-tell.  But let's just say that in the course of chasing down some leads, we ended up in a very very thorny spot.  In getting out of it, we came by some very very high level intelligence."

Hutch leaned forward in his chair, and steepled his fingers, his tone dropping into a low octave that betrayed his concern readily.

"Just what kind of intelligence are we talking about?"

Fyrenn grimaced, "Nothing that will help you sleep any easier at night, I can promise you that."

The red Gryphon paused, inhaling deeply.  Hutch shifted uncomfortably, picking up on the group's somber mood as Fyrenn continued.

"First, you have to understand something none of us saw coming.  You remember a few years back when the HLF sent in a slew of infiltrators? "

Hutch knit his brow, "You mean the gray-goo guys?  The sole reason that every security-cleared non-Gryphon person in any sensitive position has to have a quarterly blood sample taken?"

Kephic nodded, and allowed his tone to invite speculation as much as the words themselves.

"Ever wonder how they came up with that technology?"

The General shook his head slowly, "Some bastardized form of Potion, probably."

Varan grunted, "If only."

Hutch's eyes widened, "What are you suggesting?"

Fyrenn sighed and pinched the bridge of his beak between two talons as he explained.

"We're saying we have evidence...  Definitive unquestionable evidence...  That the HLF are working directly with the Changelings."

The General sat back slowly.  His eyes widened, and he let out a long, low whistle.

"Damn."

Carradan shrugged, "Yeah.  That's one way of puttin' it."

Hutch raised an eyebrow and held up a hand, "Wait, wait...  Why would a self-proclaimed 'homo sapiens only' club decide to get into bed with a bunch of shape-changing aliens?"

Fyrenn flared both wings slightly, "Well that's kind of obvious.  Each has something the other wants, and their end goals are not mutually exclusive."

Varan paced in the small space between the desk and the window, slowly but steadily continuing the thought.

"Both the Swarm, and the Front, would like to see Celestia and Luna dead, and their kingdom reduced to ashes."

Hutch leaned forward and pointed at the Gryphons, "Yeah, but you just said they had something that..." He abruptly sat back once more as realization finally dawned on him.

"...Something that other wanted...  Are you saying...?"

Kephic finished the unspoken statement harshly, "That they're trading captive Ponies for the substances and intelligence information they need?  Yes.  That's exactly what we're saying."

Hutch buried his head in his hands, groaning, "This changes everything...  Everything we thought we knew about their tactics, their connections, their game plan..."

Fyrenn sighed sympathetically, "Oh, we haven't even gotten to the bad news yet."

The General raised his gaze, and twitched slightly, "There's more?"

Skye muttered to herself morosely.

"Like you would not believe."





Astris reached out and brushed one hoof against the smooth gray surface.  Martins smirked as she came to stand beside him. 

"Having a moment?"

The Pony nodded slowly, "I...  I just can't quite wrap my head around it.  This thing that I'm touching...  This machine...  Was on the other side of the sky just this morning."

Martins crossed her arms and nodded, "Earth to Neptune and back in six minutes."

The pair stood in silence for several moments, gazing out at the Sylph.  After return to Earth's sphere of influence, and a parachute-controlled splashdown in the southern Atlantic, the vessel had been craned aboard an immense cargo ship sent to retrieve it.

Martins and Astris had arrived on the ship by VTOL mere minutes after the recovery crews had finished lashing the craft to the gargantuan multi-acre deck of the salvage boat.

The Sylph would be returned to Africa for disassembly, testing, analysis, refit, and re-assembly.  Martins hoped that the data would be encouraging.  If it was, crewed flights might follow within months.

Astris spoke, as if to voice her thoughts, "So much of your people's future is caught up in this ship.  And what she has done."

Martins nodded, "If we're lucky, she will validate everything we think...  Everything we *hope* we know about faster than light travel.  We're gambling the entire program on the results of this flight.  We simply don't have enough time left to take any other course."

Astris offered his friend a comforting smile, "Well Councilor, if what happened today was any indication, then luck seems to be with us."

Martins raised an eyebrow, and placed both hands on her hips.

"I don't believe in luck Astris."

"Then what do you believe in?"  The Pony cocked his head and squinted.

Martins grinned once more, "Stubborn determination."





Fyrenn sighed deeply as he flopped down onto the twin seats.  The cabin of the aircraft felt somewhat small for a Gryphon, but it was long enough to accommodate the entire group without too much inconvenience.

Most of the party had raised the arms between seat pairs, and elected to take up prone positions on the impromptu couches.

Carradan was already snoring, and Skye looked as if she was having trouble keeping her eyes open, despite the fact that everyone had already spent nearly ten hours sleeping on the floor of Hutch's office.

Fyrenn took a moment to glance around the airplane's cabin before resting his eyes on the open door to the cockpit.

While it felt slightly cramped and spartan, whatever the Northrop Javelin lacked in comfort and luxury accoutrement, it more than made up for in pure unbridled speed.  As a result of the vast fuel consumption rates of the twin ramjet engines, the Javelin was exclusively used as a military secure courier aircraft.

Most were painted jet black with a lone orange, red, or green tail stripe, depending on which branch of the armed forces they were attached to, and what their primary mission was.

Hutch had wasted no time in seeking the fastest mode of transit available when he had heard the news the group had come to deliver.  With a maximum cruising speed of Mach 4.5, the Javelin fit the bill for the fastest non-spacecraft in existence.

Though it had taken the General the better part of the night to secure the use of the plane, as well as several crates of standard issue JRSF combat gear, the Javelin's blistering speed meant that Vancouver was merely a one hour nap away.

By Fyrenn's calculations, they would arrive just after dawn, local time.

Kephic and Varan had already closed their eyes.  For all Fyrenn knew, they were fast asleep.  The red Gryphon lowered his head onto his forelegs, and allowed his eyes to droop to a half-closed position.

He perked up his ears, and listened in as the pilot and co-pilot prepared for takeoff.  As much as he wanted to squeeze rest out of as much of the flight as possible, he also wanted to indulge his aviation fascination.

The pilot tapped her microphone twice.

"Farmingdale Tower, Tango Seven Victor Two Three Three;  Requesting priority departure clearance."

"Roger Tango Seven, proceed to runway Thirty-Two Right and hold short, squawk three four three nine."

Fyrenn twisted one ear to get a better angle on the sound of the engines, as the long, thin aircraft made its way down the taxiway.  By the time the Javelin arrived at the runway, clearance had already been granted.

"Tango Seven, cleared for priority departure, Thirty Two Right.  Proceed heading two six zero and ascend to flight level six hundred, contact center for further vectors.  You are cleared for takeoff."

"Roger tower.  Thirty Two Right; Departure pattern confirmed.  Heading two six zero west, flight level six hundred before going supersonic, contact center for final vectors."

The plane made a sharp turn onto the runway, and Fyrenn noted the distinctive click as the co-pilot pushed the throttle levers all the way up to their maximum subsonic setting.

As the roar of the engines doubled, and doubled again, in volume, the plane began to speed down the runway, kicking up vast fantails of moisture from the night's rain showers.

"V-one.  Rotate."

Fyrenn closed his eyes at the co-pilot spoke, shifting to adjust his position as the plane tilted back sharply, and rose into the night sky.
> Chapter 23
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 22nd, Gregorian Calendar

Mr. Stalin leaned in over the holotank, watching the small GMT chronograph in the center.  When it rolled over to 13:00:00 he spoke.

"Start the clock."

Screens all over the tac-con center responded;  A small digital chronometer appeared in the lower left corner displaying +00:00:00.  As everyone watched, breathlessly, the counter rolled over to +00:00:01.  Operation Ragnar had officially begun.

Mr. Stalin straightened up, and clasped his hands behind his back, "Issue the 'go' order.  All cells are to begin final preparations, and make their move on the hour."

He turned to the technician nearest him, "Contact Retribution.  Order a final pre-fire check on all tubes, and have Mr. Utah personally oversee one final readiness drill."

Mr. Stalin inhaled slowly, and allowed himself a rare shadow of a smile.  He muttered to himself, in a tone so low that not even the men and women at the console beside him could discern.

"Judgement day."





"They say that, in time, all things burn.  But we both know that's not, strictly speaking, true."

Fyrenn's eyes snapped open as the familiar voice wound its way into his ears.  He staggered to his feet, squinting groggily at the pale white form.

"What are you doing here?"

Celestia smiled slightly, "Making absolutely sure you understand."  

The Alicorn gestured with a hoof as she spoke.

Fyrenn walked up to stand beside her.  The Equine was poised at the edge of a large cliff, looking out upon the familiar sight of Canterlot.  The vista was marred, however.  Fyrenn blinked several times to make sure his vision was clear, before inhaling sharply.

Where once snowcapped mountains, rolling green hills, babbling brooks, and rustling trees had ruled, only bleached sandstone and sun-scorched granite remained.

In every direction, as far as the eye could see, Equestria was a barren, hot, lifeless wasteland.

Fyrenn shook himself, before turning to direct a questioning stare at the Alicorn.

"What is going on here?"

She grinned.  The gesture was highly uncharacteristic.  Unlike Celestia's usual genuine, warm, inviting smile, the expression was almost predatory.  Something Fyrenn had never seen on a Pony muzzle before.

The Alicorn stomped one hoof, and the world abruptly reshaped itself.  The sun snuffed out, the sky filled with ominous clouds, and the temperature dropped like a stone.  Ice and snow replaced sand and rock, and within an instant Equestria was naught but a single, continuous, infinite glacier.

Celestia spoke, her tone coy.  Almost playful. 

"We both know that, in time, entropy has its way with even the fires of suns and gods.  Darkness takes all."

Fyrenn glared, tensing and allowing a soft growl to escape his throat.

"Who *are* you?  I've just about had it with seeing you in my sleeping hours, and---"





GMT: 13:23:12
PDT: 06:23:12
Ragnar: +00:23:12

Fyrenn awoke with a sharp jolt, as the aircraft dropped below supersonic speeds.  The maneuver was accompanied by a sharp, short vibration as the airframe adjusted to the sudden change in aerodynamics.

At first, he was disoriented.  He maintained a tense, combat-ready position as he forced his eyes to focus on the cabin.

" 'Mornin.  Welcome to the wonderful world of Canada.  We're landing in two minutes."

Fyrenn relaxed, as his gaze fixed on Carradan.  The Pegasus was curled up in the front row of seats, stuffing his face with the lion's share of the aircraft's onboard meal supplies.

The red Gryphon yawned, and stretched, banishing the images of his somnolence to the back of his mind.  There would be time enough for considering them later.

"If you take all of the instant coffee, I will drink your blood to get my morning's refreshment instead."

Skye came walking up the aisle, giggling as she intervened.

"Relax.  I made you the biggest cup they had before he got to the rest."

Fyrenn took the steaming mug from its place suspended in her magic field.  He smiled gratefully, and took a large sip of the scalding hot liquid, speaking only after he had savored the taste for a long moment.

"It's nice to know *some* of my family care."

The Unicorn snorted, "You kidding?  I know what you're like early in the morning, and this has nothing to do with altruism. 
This is about self preservation."

From his place across the aisle, Kephic responded with a yawn, forcing out the words as he stretched.

"Well if you can't be loved, at least it's nice to be feared."

As he took another long sip from the mug, Fyrenn grunted.  He could feel the aircraft descending rapidly under power, and he twisted one ear to listen to the cabin crew, while rotating his head to bring the nearest window into view.

As the plane dipped into a low-hanging layer of rain clouds, the pilot tapped her microphone and spoke with a military controller.

"Vancouver defense control, this is Javelin Tango Seven Victor Two Three Three, requesting priority military clearance, and vectors to the initial at Jericho Beach air station."

"Javelin Tango Seven, please provide authentication codes for entry into controlled airspace."

Fyrenn noted the tell-tale sound of cracking plastic, as the pilot and co-pilot both removed orange hard-shelled containers from chains around their necks, broke open the casing, and removed the thin wafers inside.

The Co-pilot provided his code first.

"First alphanumeric string reads;  Alpha one three three juliet two charlie nine five nine five."

The Pilot followed suit.

"Second string reads; Uniform two seven victor nine five golf echo echo."

After a pause, the response came back, just loud enough over the headset for Fyrenn to pick up.

"Authentication has been validated Javelin Tango Seven.  Snap to heading one nine three and descend through flight level one hundred before approaching runway twenty one left.  Be advised;  Escort craft are inbound.  Squawk two nine five nine one for Jericho Beach Tower."

Carradan snorted, and rolled his eyes, "What the heck does all that mumbo jumbo mean anyways?"

Fyrenn chuckled, "It's pilot-speak.  In short, it means that we're cleared to land in-spite of the security measures, but they're still going to point very big guns at us the whole way down."

Sky winced reflexively, "So if they didn't have the right security clearance?"

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "They had to use a dual-authentication access code to verify our intentions.  It is easier to fire some weapons of mass destruction than to get clearance to pass through a total travel blackout like we just did.  The ADIZ is very thin here, and the ground based guns alone could pick off a gnat at ten miles, to say nothing of the patrol fighters.  If you blow it delivering a security code at this level, you have less than five seconds to make it right.  Or you're ashes."

Varan prevented the grim line of conversation from devolving any further by loudly slamming down a large crate into the aisle.

Kephic popped the magnetic seals, and withdrew a foreleg gauntlet, "Time to get all dressed up for the party."

Fyrenn grinned.

"I love the smell of new kit in the morning."





GMT: 13:24:18
PDT: 06:24:18
Ragnar: +00:24:18

Mr. Utah finished cinching down his chest-plate as he stepped over the knee-knocker, and onto the Retribution's bridge.

Though he did not often don combat protection gear, he drilled with field hardware more than nearly any other member of the cabinet on average.  The dull beige nanoceramics he had selected were generally categorized as light armor, usually most suitable for ship crews and battlefield commanders than frontline soldiers.

Unlike the protective gear every other member of the crew wore, Mr. Utah's shoulder plates lacked a military rank emblem.  Instead, the curved guard pieces bore the HLF emblem of an upraised red fist, but ringed in a golden cord to signify senior leadership.

Mr. Utah stretched.  The bridge was one of only a few compartments on the entire boat that didn't feel as cramped as the rest of the corridors and quarters.

At the front, the helmsman sat in a sunken pit-shaped depression.  Above his bevy of consoles, mounted to adjustable arms, was a wide short holoscreen.  To its left, and right were thinner, but far taller screens.  Together, the three surfaces formed the illusion of a forward swept window.

In the center of the space, a round pedestal, ringed with a railing, offered the captain a place to stand.  Directly fore of this protrusion, a holotank was set into the floor.

The railing of the captain's dais was ringed with touchscreens, with the main fore screen functioning as a periscope viewport.  Two joystick-like objects on either side of the panel afforded control of the periscope sensors, and of the holotank.

The remainder of the bridge consisted largely of wall-mounted stations for Fire Control, Navigation, LADAR, SONAR, Electronic Warfare, and Communications.

The Captain turned, and gestured to Mr. Utah, "Drill complete.  All crew and systems check out.  Standing by for your order."

Mr. Utah nodded, and stepped up onto the dais beside the commanding officer, "I've just spoken with Mr. Stalin personally. 
Everything is proceeding on-plan."

The Captain nodded, and gestured to the mission clock, which was projected onto a lone screen suspended on an arm above the helm.

"Then we're going live on schedule."





GMT: 13:25:54
PDT: 06:25:54
Ragnar: +00:25:54

Neyla followed the jet black shape as it swooped down out of the cloud bank.  Behind the Javelin, two Scythes followed in close formation, weapons doubtless at the ready.

Tirinel raised an eyebrow, as the Javelin swung low towards the runway, "Did they tell you why they were willing to make a security exception for this craft?"

The Gryphoness shook her head slowly, keeping her eyes fixated on the aircraft as it flared, and touched down smoothly.  The Scythes remained close behind for a moment, before accelerating up and away with a deafening roar.

"No.  They didn't even tell me who we were meeting.  Much less why.  Just that they were cleared at the highest level, and we were to take them directly to Lantry.  They are apparently carrying information too sensitive to be transmitted, even encrypted."

Tirinel grunted, "That does not bode well."

Neyla watched as a quartet of fire suppression trucks peeled out from the taxiways, and took up formation around the Javelin, spraying hundreds of gallons of water at the plane's dimly glowing skin to cool it sufficiently for ground crews to safely approach.

"No.  It does not."

As the plane finally reached its turnoff, the fire trucks broke formation, replaced by a pair of escort humvees with flashing orange MP emergency lights, and roof mounted railguns.

The Javelin decelerated as it approached the unloading zone.  A large series of protrusions irised open at the rear of the engines, and a steam-like mixture of spent coolant gushed forth.

Finally, the escort vehicles pulled away, and a pair of maintenance trucks accompanied by a special heat-resistant covered airstair, accelerated towards the aircraft.

A loud warning buzzer sounded as the jet came to a complete stop, and the airstair moved in to mount flush to the hatch.  When the connection was finally confirmed, the warning bell ceased, and the engines began to spool down.

As the noise level dropped from 'utterly deafening' to 'manageable roar,' the hatch popped open.

The first figure to emerge was the co-pilot.  He bounded down the stairs and jogged off towards the head of the maintenance crew to co-ordinate the Javelin's refueling and cooldown cycle.

The next figure, however, left Neyla slightly shocked.  The familiar black and white speckled form of Kephic squeezed through the exit aperture, and loped down to the tarmac in two great bounds.

Before the Gryphoness could quite process what was happening, she found herself pushed backwards several feet by the impact of Skye, as she rocketed off the boarding ramp, and into the biggest embrace a little Pony could muster.

"Neyla! It's good to see you again!"

Neyla smiled, and returned the gesture, wrapping both wings around the spirited Unicorn.

"Skye!  They didn't tell me who was coming, and---"

Varan interrupted with a small, but affectionate brotherly hug of his own.  Normally the golden Gryphon was not given over to emotional displays, but when dealing with those he considered family, a more overt sign of affection was not out of the question.

Before Neyla could gather her wits, she found herself face to face with Kephic, who was grinning like an idiot as he delivered his salutation.

"What is it the Humans say? Long time no see."

Neyla offered him a short, warm hug as well, waving to Carradan as he passed, smirking.

The Pegasus winked as he moved into her peripheral vision, putting on his best infomercial salesman voice.

"But wait! There's more."

The Gryphoness followed Stan's eyes apprehensively as she extricated herself from Kephic.  As she took a tentative step towards the bottom of the airstair, a final passenger forced his way out of the cramped exit, and sidled down the ramp.

Neyla's heart skipped a beat.  The familiar crimson-on-burgundy swoops of the feathers and fur were absolutely unmistakably Fyrenn's.

For a moment, he seemed completely pre-occupied with avoiding the still-steaming skin of the aircraft, and the backwash of the engine's billowing coolant clouds.

As he passed beyond the safe-line in the pavement, however, his eyes rose.

There was a long moment of relative calm.  Fyrenn seemed absolutely frozen as he stared at Neyla, and she likewise seemed unable to completely process the sudden reunion.

The rest of the group tensed, staring as if expecting a hand grenade to go off.  Carradan shuffled quietly to the side, placing Kephic and Varan between himself and the other Gryphons.

Tirinel, for his part, merely seemed confused.

Fyrenn was first to break the stalemate.  Given the gamut of roiling emotions he was doing his best to suppress, he decided to be as reserved as possible.  In spite of his attempts, however, his ears flattened slightly, and the muscles around his wings tensed noticeably.

His tone remained even enough that none of the other Gryphons could detect hints of emotions, but Skye winced as her more acute Equine ears detected a tell-tale nervous waver in the sub-sonic range.

"Well this is an unexpected turn..."

Neyla snorted and glared.  Her tone remained even as well, but she allowed an audible measure of her frustration to creep into her words.

"That's one way of putting it."

Tirinel cocked his head several degrees and rumbled deep in his chest, "Have I missed something?"

Without taking her eyes off Fyrenn, Neyla practically spat a response over her shoulder.

"No.  Nothing at all.  I believe we were just leaving."

As the Gryphoness stretched out her wings, and launched herself abruptly into the air, Carradan whistled.

While Kephic busied himself placing Skye on his back, and Tirinel introduced himself quietly to Varan, Stan loped over to Fyrenn.

The Pegasus whistled, and knit his brow as he spoke in a low tone.

"And you were just warning *me* about toxic situations with the ladies?  Physician heal thyself."

Fyrenn glowered, and snapped his beak harshly.

"Enough!  The last thing I need is your smarmy commentary to complete my day.  I'm tired, I'm stressed, I'm carrying information that could spell the end of the status quo as we know it, and now I have to deal with.... *Her!*  If you so much as---"

Carradan raised one hoof defensively, wincing and cowering behind the limb, as if it would deflect the Gryphon's sudden outburst.

"Ok ok!  Geez!  I was just trying to lighten the mood..."

As the Pegasus trotted off, spreading his wings in preparation for joining Kephic in the air, he snorted, and cast his own glare back at Fyrenn.

"You *really* need a love life."

Fyrenn hissed, and lunged forward several meters, prompting Carradan to yelp, and flap his wings furiously to escape.

As the rest of the group made its way aloft, Tirinel moved to stand beside the red Gryphon, tilting his head to glance down at him with one gargantuan eye.

"You and Neyla have...  History?"

Fyrenn sighed, hooding his eyes, flattening his ears, and lowering his head in frustration.

"Oh, You have *no* idea..."





GMT: 13:45:00
PDT: 06:45:00
Ragnar: +00:45:00

Sub-basement level 12 of the Earthgov Vancouver complex was mostly given over to storage spaces.  Giant five hundred square foot elevators ran from the surface loading bays, down directly into the earth-quake proof vaults.

Container SVDC-51975 had arrived from the port, and immediately been offloaded onto one of the elevators.  Despite the container's nondescript markings, empty manifest, and unusual size, it had not even been inspected before being ferried down into the concrete bowels of the building.

Its diplomatic status, denoted by the orange stripes on the doors and sides, was word of law in the most literal sense possible.

For several hours, SVDC-51975 had lain completely unattended, with only a dozen other generic storage units for company within the lightless, nearly-airless storage space.

As the clock rolled over to 06:45:00 am PDT, however, a small blue light began to blink on and off in quick succession.

At 06:45:05 am, the vault filled with the hiss and clank of a magnetic seal disengaging.

For a moment, stillness once again descended on the room.

Had any guards been posted to the space, however, at 06:45:10 am, they would have watched in dumbstruck horror, as a metallic hand firmly gripped the crate's door and pushed it steadily open.  From the inside.





GMT: 13:56:12
PDT: 06:56:12
Ragnar: +00:56:12

General Lantry steepled his fingers, and leaned back in his chair.  For a moment, he retained absolute silence, pressing his digits to his lips in thought.

He inhaled slowly, and leaned forward.  The tension in the room was nearly unbearable.  

Fyrenn, Kephic, and Skye had just finished recounting their tale.  The three together with Varan, Neyla, Carradan, General Lantry, and several other JRSF commanders of various species, were gathered around a huge granite conference table.

The Vancouver facility was filled with rooms that did not yet have much cause to be used, and Lantry had immediately commandeered one upon their arrival.  Grasping the importance of the situation swiftly, the General had actually excused himself directly from a series of high level talks in order to hear what the group had to say.

Lantry pointed one finger sternly at Fyrenn. 

"I want you to repeat for me, word for word, what this 'Inside Joke' told you she found.  In her exact terms."

Fyrenn nodded curtly, "She said, and quote, 'The HLF is planning to unleash an attack so devastating, that HLF and Changeling forces on both Earth, and Equestria, are being ordered to take shelter as if from an immense landquake.  They call the plan 'Ragnar,' and they mean to destroy every high level Human and Equine leader within a span of minutes.' "

Lantry sat for several more moments in absolute silence, before slamming his fist unexpectedly into the table.  He grit his teeth, and murmured.

"What the hell are they playing at..."

Kephic raised a claw, "General;  With respect?  It doesn't matter what they are 'playing at.' "

Varan nodded, chiming in before Lantry could object.

"I concur.  We know the attack will be great in scale. We can reasonably assume that both of the Ruling Alicorns will be targeted, as well as your governing Council."

Fyrenn added his assent swiftly. 

"Right.  The only option we have, for the good of Celestia, Luna, the Council, and anyone else who might end up as collateral damage, is to evacuate them.  Now."

Tirinel rumbled deep in his chest, "Aye.  Scatter them to the four winds, and let none but their closest protectors know where they are bound."

Skye grinned, "The attack won't come if they can't knock down all the dominoes at once."

There was a moment's silence, after which Lantry stood, and straightened his uniform jacket, "I agree as well.  I'll take steps to prepare the VIPs for evacuation.  I want everyone in this room to break up into fire-teams and prepare to act as escort.  No one else is to know your purpose, and you are not to speak of this to another living soul until the all-clear is sounded."





GMT: 13:57:50
EST: 10:57:50
Ragnar: +00:57:50

Hutch jolted in his seat as the lights blinked out.  The sound of the building's electrical grids discharging was the only noise left to fill the eerie calm, punctuated by the morning rays of the Equestrian sun peeking through the Barrier, and into the window.

The General paused, glancing up at the ceiling tensely, before rising and heading towards the office door.

As Hutch reached the portal, and stepped through to behold the confused faces of Fort Hamilton's remaining skeleton staff, the lights began to flicker back on, accompanied by the thrum of the emergency generator.

Hutch stood stock still for a moment, then pointed up at the ceiling, glaring at the nearest technician.

"Find out what that was.  Now."

As the man stood, Hutch placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

"And...  Put the building on status yellow.  Tactical ready positions.  I don't much like this."





GMT: 13:59:03
PDT: 06:59:03
Ragnar: +00:59:03

Fyrenn glanced up at the glass and steel swoop of the roof appreciatively.  The chamber was not entirely unlike the one he had stood in years before, when Earthgov's Northamerizone facility was housed in Harrisburg Pennsylvania.

As the group, headed by Lantry, moved towards the center of the room, he fixed his gaze on Celestia.

The Solar Monarch was standing in the center of the chamber, having clearly just begun some sort of prepared address.

A low murmur rippled through the assembled Counselors as the Alicorn's words trailed off.  The elected Speaker rose from his position behind a central podium, glaring, and spoke with a harsh clip.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Lantry held up both hands for silence, "Your Highness...  Councilors...  We have just received highly credible intelligence that suggests your lives are in imminent danger, and the security of the city has been compromised."

A series of gasps, grunts, and sharp inhalations circled the room.

The General stepped up to stand beside Celestia, "The JRSF has assembled a series of fire-teams, and preparations are underway to evacuate you all to undisclosed safe-houses.  I need you to leave your seats in an orderly fashion and establish two lines by the door."

Tirinel nodded, and projected his words with a cavernous and reverberating tone, "Fire team leaders will meet each pair of you at the exit, and escort you out of the city according to their own sealed orders.  Please begin immediately."

After a mercifully brief pause, there was a universal rustling of clothing, seat fabric, and low murmurs, as the Council began to act on the ominous instructions.

Celestia stepped down from the podium, and made her way over to the remainder of the group.  She fixed Fyrenn with a questioning stare.

"What is happening here Fyrenn?"

The red Gryphon sighed, "I wish we were reuniting under better circumstances.  We don't have time to go into details now, but we've discovered a plot to assassinate you, your sister, and every member of the Earthgov ruling council."

Kephic raised a claw before the Alicorn could speak, "We've already spoken with your sister.  She has been forewarned to the best of our knowledge and abilities."

Varan nodded, adding his thoughts swiftly.

"Right now, the most important priority is that we get you out of the city as quickly and quietly as possible.  Every second you are here you endanger yourself, and the lives of everyone in Vancouver."

Lantry stepped up behind the Alicorn, and spoke to the group at large, gesturing expansively, "I want you six, and myself, to comprise Her Majesty's escort team."

Fyrenn and Neyla both moved to raise their claws in protest, but Lantry cut them off with a glare.

"I know I can't really force you to work together but please, for the love of Patton, shove whatever childish and moronic problems you're having way down to the toes of your back paws.  You're the best soldiers we have, and the crux of this thing will probably fall to you in the clutch.  Act like it.  For my sanity's sake."

Before anyone else could speak, there was a chilling rumble.  The ground shook, the supports for the ceiling groaned, and a series of sharp, short, explosions rocked the morning air.

Fyrenn tensed, partially spreading both wings reflexively, "That can't possibly be good."





GMT: 14:00:02
PDT: 07:00:02
Ragnar: +01:00:02

Mr. Utah nodded once as the hour rolled over.

The Retribution's captain turned to face the fore of the bridge, crossing both hands behind his back.

"Engine room, disengage heat-sinks and dampers.  EM restrictions lifted;  Drop silent running.  Helm, bring us around thirty degrees to port and get us out from under our friend.  Ahead two thirds and rise to surface combat depth."

The helmsman nodded, and began to violently twist the controls at his station, "Three-zero degrees port, ahead two thirds flank, plot for launch depth after clearing the cargo ship, aye."

The Captain glanced up at the ceiling as he thumbed the inter-ship comm control, "All hands to action stations.  Combat condition red."

An insistent alarm klaxon began to ring out through every bulkhead, and the room's lighting dropped to a dull shade of ochre.

"Torpedo room, ready on tubes one and two.  Fire control, spin up missiles one through forty.  Release first-stage hatch locks and free the targeting systems to begin selecting impact zones."

The Fire Control officer leaned back in his seat and repeated the orders as he worked, "Torpedo room acknowledges.  Missiles one thru forty are hot-loaded and first-stage lift-locks are released.  Sir;  Please insert your command key and turn it on my count."

The Captain nodded, and withdrew a small data chip from a chain around his neck.  He placed the object into a slot on his forward console, under Mr. Utah's watchful eye.

"Sir?  We're ready."

Mr. Utah nodded curtly, "I authorize the strike at time zero seven hundred.  Code: Jackson Seven Six A-T One A Two."

The Fire control officer inhaled sharply, "In three, two, one.  Fire control released."

The captain turned his key simultaneously, and there was a resounding clunk, as the safety interlocks on the boat's weapons came free.





8703 North Drayton Street suddenly erupted into a flurry of activity.

Several neighbors stopped to watch, bound by curiosity, as uniformed men rushed from the house, and surrounded the enormous shipping container in the drive.

Several of the men began to unlock the crate, while five broke away and began walking towards the onlookers.

One of the neighbors, who had lived directly across the street for almost a decade, raised his hand in greeting, "Hey!  Sorry, we're just curios to see---"

His sentence ended abruptly as the armored men raised their assault rifles.

Before the small gaggle of civilian men and women had time to even process the deadly turn events had taken, the sound of automatic RAC fire shattered the morning suburban calm.  Twelve dead bodies dropped to the street simultaneously in an expanding pool of blood.

No sooner had the corpses fallen, than there was a resounding CLANG, as the sides of the container fell away to reveal the enormous device within.

One of the armored men broke from the group, and scrambled up towards a control seat, mounted on a movable arm and nested amongst a series of consoles.

He raised his fist with a grin and shouted, "HUMANUS PRO VITA!"

The Armored men below ripped off their Niose Security shoulder guards to reveal red HLF mission patches.  As one, they returned the call, "TO VICTORY FOR HUMANITY!"

The technician gestured down to one of his comrades, who held a datapad in both hands.

"Start the generator."

The man obliged by tapping two keys, and deep within the machine formerly contained by the crate, a fusion powered engine roared to life.

The operator thumbed two joysticks expertly.  His control seat pivoted up and out, as the machine simultaneously deployed a series of footpads, and locked its wheels.

"Deployment complete!  Activating Warheads!"

The entire rear half of the vehicle split open to reveal an immense quad of octagonal prisms.  The end of each object bristled with dozens of gleaming missile tips.  Each firing tube was mounted on a gimbal, all of which were in turn mounted on a central movable arm.

The technician began tapping away at his consoles, "Send me the target packets."

The man on the ground with the DaTab nodded, "Transmitting."

The technician grinned, and flicked up the hat switch on his joystick.

"Chew on this Celesthulu."





GMT: 14:00:03
PDT: 07:00:03
Ragnar: +01:00:03

The surface of Vancouver's harbor was an uncharacteristically smooth, glasslike surface, as the gray morning dawned.

The city's security lockdown meant that nothing besides the Blue Ridge's SWCC boats were allowed to so much as move.

Suddenly, the mirroresque surface was disturbed by an uncanny ripple.

The boiling bulge expanded, slowly revealing a dark black swooping metallic shape.  A conning tower finally emerged, dark obsidian against the steel sky.  On the right side, a blood-red human fist.

As the Retribution charged forward into the center of the harbor, a series of interlocking square hatches behind the conning tower began to fly open, one by one.

Inside each was a quad of glittering warheads.





The Helmsman glanced back over his shoulder, "We're in position!"

The Fire control officer tapped several keys on his screen, "Firing solution locked!  Ready!"

The Captain raised his fist in salute, and practically shouted to the fire control officer.

"Loose tubes one through forty!  Fire all torpedos!"

Mr. Utah smiled, as the tell-tale 'kawoosh' of missiles being unleashed reverberated throughout the ship over.  And over.  And over.





"Captain! I'm getting a reading I can't properly source..."

Sorven pushed her cap back, and took her feet off the console.  Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she darted across the Blue Ridge CIC to join the captain in looking over the LADAR operator's shoulder.

The screen displayed a bevy of numerics and graphs that made no sense to Sorven, all the while emitting an annoying two-tone that seemed to be increasing in frequency gradually.

At last, the Captain understood.  He stiffened, and gripped the console so fiercely, his knuckles turned white.

"SOUND GENERAL QUARTERS! BRACE FOR IMPACT! HELM, BRING US TO FLANK SPEED AND TAKE EVASIVE---"

And suddenly, Sorven's world erupted into shattered glass, smoke, light, and sound.





"Grimorum one, Grimorum two;  I am tracking two sensor anomalies closing at your eleven high."

The Pilot of the Scythe juked his stick left, rolling the high performance aircraft to try and get a visual confirmation of what his LADAR was telling him.

"Roger Grimorum two, I'm seeing the same reading but I can't confi--"

The transmission cut to static nearly as swiftly as it had begun.  The Pilot of Grimorum Two barely had time to scream out a request for assistance into his headset, and observe the fireball his wingman had abruptly become, before the same fate befell him.

As the screams of the pilot's panicked last moment died out into radio snow, a pair of dark gray YF-23 aircraft screamed between the two fireballs.  Their tails stamped with a red upraised fist.

An encrypted transmission passed between the two craft, as the pilots began to retarget their remaining missiles onto the unsuspecting security VTOLs below.

"Ghost one, target down.  Proceeding to mop-up."

"Ghost two, target down.  Alpha Mike Foxtrot."





To the HLF invasion force, Vancouver was a stationary, completely undefended target.

The JRSF's first indication of contact came as the captain of the Blue Ridge realized that the carrier was being targeted by incoming torpedoes and missiles.  By the time the man had discovered the truth, however, it was too late.

A dozen warheads streaked down from their low apex, and impacted directly onto the upper deck.  Aircraft, fuel lines, and warhead trucks produced secondary detonations that left the entire usable takeoff and landing portions of the deck scarred and blown to pieces.

Gaping, smoking, flaming holes opened onto the hangar deck below, leaving the ship's delicate innards completely exposed.

Simultaneously, the Retribution's two torpedoes slammed into the ship just below the water garage.  The resulting detonation incapacitated the facility, and propelled several pieces of large shrapnel all the way through the hull, and out the other side.

Alarms began to sound, and waterproof bulkheads dropped in over twenty sections to try and stem the inward gush of seawater.

Several of Retribution's missiles continued to arc up into the sky, apexing nearly half a mile above the city.  The dozen warheads found their way swiftly towards the main Airport, Maglev Terminals, and shipping piers

The city's automated aerial defense turrets responded.  The sleek gray angular railgun nests burst forth from concealed hatches under highway overpasses, on top of buildings, and in the sides of government or military structures.

The sky above Vancouver suddenly lit up with millions of rounds of tracer fire, accentuated by dozens of missile trails.

But the defensive measures were severely outmatched.

The turrets had been designed to stop incoming large railgun rounds, and warheads from external sources.  The HLF's attack ordinance was being fired from within a mile of the turrets' zone of influence, and each warhead was splitting into dozens of smaller, but lethal packages at their apex.

Even the sophisticated Earthgov military AI could not keep pace.

Retribution turned, and deployed its two railguns to fire on the Blue Ridge.  As the submarine cut a sliding turn across the harbor, it launched a second barrage of missiles, which was joined almost instantly by a massive wave of warheads from the mobile launcher to the north-east.

Within the span of thirty seconds, and thanks in part to the two YF-23s that had snuck in underneath the city's LADAR, every single flying Earthgov defense object, whether Plane, drone, or VTOL, was a smoking wreck plummeting from the sky.

Within another ten seconds, volley upon volley of warheads had impacted every conceivable travel terminal in the city.

Hundreds died as the roof of Pacific Central Station exploded inwards in a shower of glass and steel and fiery sparks.  

Aircraft nestled into their hangars at the civilian air terminal, The Water Harbor airfield, and Jericho Beach alike, detonated into sequential pyres, taking anyone who was within a hundred yards with them.

A few missiles specifically made it their mission to plow directly into the runways, and the tarmacs, eliminating every conventional space in the city that a fixed-wing aircraft could use for arrival or departure.

One warhead even redirected to impact a large tanker near the mouth of the harbor, resulting in an immense fuel detonation that cast all the vessels, friendly, enemy, and neutral, in a blood red light for several seconds.

VTOLs scrambled from their pads, but the second and third volleys from the mobile launcher cut them down before they could even crest the rooftops of the surrounding structures.

Exhausting their entire supply of warheads inside of a minute, both Retribution and the Mobile launcher finally spent the rest of their munitions targeting the defense railguns, support struts for the main road overpasses, and sections of the main maglev lines.

As smoke poured from the Blue Ridge, the Port, The Air Terminals, and hundreds of other structures in the city, an air-raid siren finally began to sound, punctuated by the screech of the twin YF-23's as they circled around to begin firing on ground positions.

For Vancouver, Ragnar dawned with the sun, just as the myth of old predicted. 

In smoke, and blood, and fire.





GMT: 14:00:04
PDT: 07:00:04
Ragnar: +01:00:04

The peace of the San Francisco morning evaporated like dew in a cacophony of falling bricks and shattering mortar.

At first, onlookers through a strut from a robotic crane had accidentally taken out part of a wall in the construction site.  But observant passers-by swiftly realized that the distinctive cylindrical shape was far more in the vein of war machine, than lifting equipment.

Delivered to the HLF by one of Earthgov's infiltrated contractors, the L-RAC mobile artillery had been stripped of all security measures that would have normally prevented it from firing without proper authorization.

At the behest of the two cackling men inside, who had approached the site unchallenged in their construction vests, the main turret swung outwards.  The metal cylinder collapsed one of the four brick walls that had concealed the vehicle, ever since Mr. Utah had arranged for it to be shipped there under the guise of construction equipment.

Onlookers stood in stiff horror, unable to muster even the will to scream, as the immense weapon spoke.

The cacophonous roar of the discharge shattered windows throughout the bay area.  Car alarms and home security systems went wild.  Anyone within two hundred yards collapsed to the street screaming, ears bleeding as the delicate inner mechanisms ruptured violently from the pressure wave.

A stream of rounds flew from the twin muzzles of the artillery piece, shaking the ground as if the San Andreas fault had awoken on the wrong side of the bed.  Each round had been carefully pre-aimed to fall on a transit installation, military structure, guard post, or warehouse.

The initial round of targets had been carefully planned and re-planned for nearly a year.

Before the residents of San Francisco quite knew what had happened, over eighty percent of the military personnel in a fifty mile radius were dead, or dying, and their equipment lay in smoldering ruins.

Inside the L-RAC, the gunner chuckled, and pulled back from his scope.

"Hey...  You know they didn't specifically say what to hit with the second volley..."

The Pilot grinned like a fox, and pointed towards an icon on the holomap, "I have a target in mind.  Assuming you don't mind killing a whole bunch of sun worshipping freaks."

As the turret swung around, and the computer began to re-calculate firing arcs, the gunner whistled, "Yeah.  That'll leave a mark no one will forget."





GMT: 14:00:05
EST: 10:00:05
Ragnar: +01:00:05

Hutch drummed his fingers on the center console incessantly, a none-too-subtle sign of his nervous impatience.

At last, one of the technicians raised her head from the cluster of monitors, "Sir?  I think you should take a look at this."

The General darted around the side of the console, to behold a screen full of gibberish.

"What exactly am I looking at?"

The technician shrugged, "Gibberish, sir.  The whole battle net just went down.  For us anyways.  I can't even access the base AI."

Hutch's brow furrowed, "Chuck's down?"

The woman nodded, "Down, and out."

The General loosened the strap on his side-arm.

"Alright.  That's it.  I'm declaring a hostile situation, and---"

His sentence was truncated by a low rumble, followed swiftly by a series of alarms.  As Hutch tensed, and prepared to fire off his next round of orders, however, an insidious tell-tale hiss filled the air.

The General exhaled sharply, and clutched the collar of his jacket to his nose.

"Gas.  Fantastic.  Could it possibly get any worse?"

"Oh absolutely General."

Hutch whirled to bring the source of the voice into view.  What he saw didn't initially register with his brain, reducing his response to a confused glare.

The owner of the voice grinned, "I do so love a good surprise party.  Today?  I'm throwing one for your funeral.  Humanus Pro Vita."

Hutch felt the blood in his veins chill as he realized the implications of the words, combined with the speaker himself.

He moved one hand towards his pistol.  It was the last move he made before his body abruptly accelerated backwards, propelled by a green scaly blur, and punched a ragged hole in the reinforced steel wall.

As Klarien stepped towards the prone form, admiring his handiwork, he chuckled deep in his chest.  Wisps of noxious puce colored smoke spilled over his teeth as he shook with mirth.

"Surprise."
> Chapter 24
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:03:22
PDT: 07:03:22
Ragnar: +01:03:22

"Main comm lines just went ballistic.  The situation is deteriorating out there."  

Lantry winced as a burst of high volume static burrowed into his ear via his headset.

Fyrenn raised one fisted claw above his head as the group reached a corner.  For a brief moment, everyone stood in absolute silence.  Fyrenn glanced back at Skye, and Carradan.  Both Ponies nodded, an acknowledgement that their superior hearing had detected nothing concerning in the space beyond.

The red Gryphon lowered his fist, and continued cautiously around the corner, RAC raised.

Fyrenn was at the front of the group, dashing to various cover points as he scouted ahead.  In the middle, from both flanks, Kephic and Neyla stood watch over Celestia, Lantry, and the two Ponies.

To the rear, Varan lurked in the shadows.  Hutch had thoughtfully added a late-model grenade launcher to the group's equipment crates just before departure.  

Upon first seeing the weapon in his brother's claws, Fyrenn had decided that he almost pitied anyone stupid enough to run afoul of its new owner.  Almost.

Kephic sighed as the rumble of more missile impacts vibrated the building's floor.

Carradan squinted up at the ceiling, wondering aloud in a shaky tone.

"Has anyone stopped to wonder why they aren't bombing the crap out of us?"

Lantry pulled a small hardened DaTab from a leg holster.  He tapped several keys, then shook his head slowly.

"Initial reports that came down before things went dark would suggest that they focused on offensive and defensive assets, transit terminals, maglev lines, roadways..."

Kephic's eyes narrowed.  He spoke without taking his eyes away from his quadrant.

"But if that was the first wave, then why haven't they re-tasked to destroy this building?  Carradan is right...  We are the targets so why haven't they taken the shot?"

Celestia added her thoughts to the conversation for the first time since they had departed the Council chamber.

"Because they know that their conventional weapons are not powerful enough."

Fyrenn glanced over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as a note of incredulity crept into his response.

"This building is hardened, true, but they definitely have enough weaponry to punch through the defensive layers, given enough time."

The Alicorn shook her head, "Of the building, yes.  And doing so would certainly kill the members of your ruling Council.  But I am capable of surviving the onslaught."

Lantry glanced up at the monarch with a gaze that conveyed genuine admiration and surprise, "How?!"

Kephic provided the answer, eyes still carefully sweeping his flank for opponents.

"Shield magic."

Celestia nodded, expanding on the explanation.

"If I can remain still, and concentrate, I can summon a defensive sphere powerful enough to defy even the largest of your conventional missiles temporarily.  Even here, where the magic is thin."

Fyrenn abruptly stopped, bringing the rest of the group up short behind him.  He stood in thought for a moment, then turned.

"So you're saying that they know they can't hit you from a distance with conventional weapons, and be sure of a kill.  And I'll bet they know you're under heavy guard, because that's only logical.  So a close-in strike is an iffy proposition, and a remote strike is completely out of the question."

Lantry shrugged, raising an eyebrow as he spoke curtly.

"Your point being?"

Fyrenn's eyes hardened, and his ears twitched in annoyance.

"My point being that there is only one tactically viable option given the layout of the situation."

The general crossed his arms, "Enlighten me."

The red Gryphon pointed towards the ceiling as another volley of missiles impacted nearby with a loud rumbling noise, and a minor tremor.

"They're trying to put us in a cage.  You said it yourself;  They focused on transit lines and terminals in addition to hardened military positions and assets.  They're cutting us off.  Trying to keep us inside the city.  Now they can't be fully guaranteed that a close-in assassination attempt will succeed...  Though that doesn't mean they won't try.  So if small arms won't do it, and if large missiles won't do it...  Then what's left?"

Lantry stiffened as the answer finally dawned on him.

"My God..."

Celestia's eyes widened slightly in concern as she detected the hint of fear in the man's voice.  Kephic finally spoke the words themselves, though nearly everyone in the group was thinking them by the time he did.

"A weapon of mass destruction."

Lantry balled one hand into a fist, his expression abruptly morphing from one of shock, to one of anger and frustration.

"They're going to try and destroy the whole city!  Just to kill a handful of people!"

Varan shrugged, "To them, it makes sense.  Celestia's life is worth extinguishing those of all the other innocents who reside here.  To say nothing of the fact that they view your elected leaders as traitors to the species.  Also worthy of death.  And the military casualties will also be cripplingly significant."

Fyrenn raised both claws, "Alright, alright.  So we know they want to blow up the city.  What could they have gotten their hands on that could do that?"

Skye tilted her head in thought, "Thermonuclear bomb?"

Lantry shook his head vehemently, his tone leaving no room for doubt in the veracity of his denial.

"Earthgov tracks all viable nuclear material on the planet.  None of it is unaccounted for.  Not even so much as a tenth of a gram."

Carradan raised a hoof, "What about one of those microwave vaporizer things, like the one we had to diffuse in Carrenton?"

Skye held up a hoof as well, shaking her head as she put an end to the line of thought. 

"Too power-hungry.  To create an effect that could envelop a city this geographic size they'd need access to far more electricity than they can generate in a mobile package."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and shifted her stance slightly as she offered a single word.

"Biotoxin?"

Celestia snorted, "Can you imagine them finding any sort of poison that could reckon with our immune systems when so thinly dispersed?"

Kephic sighed, scratching at the back of his head with one claw as he added his own points to the discussion once more.

"None of these weapons are capable of striking against a target on the other side of the Barrier.  Let's not forget that your sister is just as much an objective for them as you are.  They wouldn't be so brazen unless they believed they could eliminate you both, instantly and simultaneously.  Anything less would be suicidal for them, given the potential repercussions."

Lantry grunted, staring down into the floor, as if his thoughts were etched in the marble.

"A weapon does exist that could accomplish the task...  But I can't see how the HLF would gain access to it.  Even *if* they had the activation index."

Celestia turned to face the general, wings flaring slightly, eyebrows knit, "Humans have access to weapons that can penetrate the Barrier?"

The Alicorn's gaze hardened into a glare, her voice betraying an emotional state bordering on barely-bridled rage.  Fyrenn winced internally as she seared the General with the tone of her query.

"Why is this news to me?"

Lantry shook his head and held up both hands defensively.  He did his best to inject a conciliatory note into his words.

"Because its not an active system.  It was built long, long before your people arrived, decommissioned decades ago, and only ten living souls besides us even know about it.  Its ability to bypass the Barrier is theoretical.  At best."

Fyrenn stepped forward, and planted himself squarely before the General.  He crossed both forelegs, and straightened up to his full height, glaring down at Lantry.

"Is there *any* possibility, I don't care how remote, *ANY* possibility, that the HLF knows about this weapon, and has a plan to gain access?"

Lantry didn't speak, but when he finally met the Gryphon's eyes, his expression was answer enough.

Fyrenn turned back to the corridor, hastily checking his RAC's safety as he spoke at an accelerated, businesslike clip.

"We have to work under the assumption that they have access to the weapon.  That means we're on a clock, and we don't know how close it is to zero.  We have to get out of the city.  Yesterday."

Neyla snorted, raising an eyebrow and folding her forelegs.

"And your brilliant plan to escape their overwhelming attack force is...?"

The red Gryphon shrugged, tossing his response over his shoulder without even looking.

"I'll blow up that bridge when I come to it."

The blue and beige Gryphoness muttered under her breath, rolling her eyes in response.

"Naturally.  Because that's one thing you're quite accomplished at."

Before Fyrenn could muster a reply, the corridor ahead of the group erupted in smoke, fire, and shrapnel.  From the gaping hole in the floor, five lithe metallic forms sprang forth.

As Fyrenn straightened up, and cleared his ears, he tensed.  The Gryphon barely had time to size up the new opponents before all hell broke loose.  But what he saw did not encourage him.

As the combatants sprang into action, he just barely had time to murmur a string of curse words before he was engulfed in pure chaos.





GMT: 14:04:06
PDT: 07:04:06
Ragnar: +01:04:06

Sorven coughed violently, trying to clear the smoke from her lungs.  As she scrambled across the deck to the prone form of the Captain, she shouted out to anyone else who was conscious on the bridge.

"REPORT!"

Accompanied by more coughing, a reply issued from the general direction of the helm station.

"Multiple concurrent strikes!  Moderate crew casualties being reported.  All decks, all stations.  We've lost the flight deck and the water garage...  Satvision uplink is destroyed, along with the auxiliary antennas.  We've taken on several thousand gallons of seawater on the port side."

Another voice cut through the smoke from the direction of the holotable.

"VLS tubes are down, CIWS functioning at half capacity, and most of the AI computing racks are down.  Offensive weapons are manual control only."

Sorven checked the captain for a pulse.  She sighed in relief upon discovering that the Captain was still alive.  If only barely.  She scrambled to her feet, and staggered towards the nearest bulkhead-mounted emergency kit.

"Engine status?"

The helm officer finally managed to strap herself into her combat harness, and began tapping at her display furiously.

"Port athwartships thrusters are out.  Main drive system has only sustained light damage though.  Our starboard turning is going to be severely lacking."

Sorven practically ripped the cover plate off the emergency compartment, and yanked out the medkit.  As she made her way back to the Captain, her mind raced.

"Status on the enemy craft?!"

The man at the holotank began typing furiously into one of the command consoles.  At his insistence, the display stuttered to life.

"LADAR arrays are damaged, but secondary SONAR and LIDAR are still functional.  We've got an unknown contact bearing down on us at our ten o'clock.  Range half a mile, tonnage in the heavy cruiser range...  Though by the looks of this return signature we're dealing with a submarine."

Sorven popped open the medkit, and began rifling through the equipment, searching for the scabbie foam dispenser.

"When will they be ready to fire again?"

Another voice, groggy and slurred at first, responded from the fire control station.

"A matter of seconds..."

Sorven popped the cap off the foam dispenser, and began indiscriminately spraying it into the Captain's open wounds.

"Sound the combat alarm again, and bring the ship up to full military thrust!  Activate starboard athwartships thrusters and minimize our torpedo profile.  Tell damage control teams to prioritize getting the hangar deck, and any side bay apertures functional.  I want an inventory of whatever aircraft we have left in no more than two minutes.  Has the XO reported in?"

The lieutenant at the holotank shook his head, "XO is a casualty in sickbay.  They're prepping for surgery now, but the prognosis is bad."

The helm officer began feverishly working her station's controls, "Bringing us to full military thrust, initiating turn to port."

Sorven finished stemming the captain's bleeding, and began searching the small red hard-shell case for combat stimulant drugs, to stabilize his pulse.

"Re-task all remaining computing power to the seawhizz, and do everything else manually as-needed.  Load all railguns and torpedo racks.  Stand by for concentrated sustained fire with all batteries, all quadrants."

A loud klaxon blared.  Sorven braced herself as another burst of impacts rocked the Blue Ridge.

As he shaking subsided, she yanked the cap from the epinephrine injector, and rammed it into the captain's arm.

"RETURN FIRE!"





GMT: 14:05:00
EST: 10:05:00
Ragnar: +01:05:00

Klarien exhaled once more, dispersing yet another massive cloud of toxic fumes into the Fort's air supply.

At last, the gas reached critical saturation, and a biohazard alert horn began to sound over the facility's address speakers.  The green Dragon chuckled, and moved away from the vents.  He ambled casually over to the communications panel, and tweaked several transceiver settings, before speaking.

"The gas has been released, and the command center is secure.  I'll be waiting outside operations control..."

He glanced over at Hutch's prone form, and smirked, "Send in the fire teams."





GMT: 14:05:19
PDT: 07:05:19
Ragnar: +01:05:19

Fyrenn breathed a fervent word of thanks to the designers of the RAC-9, for opting to add a forward deployable bayonet.

As the Augment made another pass with his own similarly bladed rifle, Fyrenn was forced to duck to the side, and raise one wing to redirect the strike.  The enemy bayonet passed harmlessly off of the protective armored joint-guard, and the Gryphon took the opportunity to raise his rifle and fire.

To his surprise, the Argument released its left hand grip on the weapon, and moved its entire left arm to force his RAC off-target.  The round passed harmlessly by the soldier's helmet and struck the opposite wall.

Fyrenn grit his beak and hissed.  The five enemies were unlike anything the HLF had ever thrown in his path before.

Previous Augments had sacrificed anything, and everything, in the name of pure durability.  It made them lethal, but only in larger, well prepared groups, where they could present a tenable defense against a Gryphon's native agility.

The new soldiers seemed to have been built based on precisely the opposite mentality.  They were geared purely for agility and processing speed to match a Gryphon on its own playing field.

Even at maximum time dilation, and even pushing his limbs to move as fast as the muscles would allow, Fyrenn was only a matter of nanoseconds ahead of the trooper.

The Gryphon pivoted back, and to the left, trying to get a feel for how the rest of the group was faring.  Kephic, Varan, and Neyla seemed completely tied up fighting their own individual opponents.

That left Lantry, Celestia, Skye, and Carradan to face the remaining Augment.

As Fyrenn brought down his RAC to block a strike from his opponent, Celestia flared both wings, and forced her way in front of Stan, and Skye, using her entire body as a protective barricade.

The Augment focused solely on the Alicorn, raising his rifle and holding down the trigger mercilessly.

Without so much as flinching, Celestia stood her ground.  As the rounds closed the intervening distance, her horn flared in a violent display of fuchsia and gold magic.

As each round approached, a small circular thaumatic flare winked into existence, lingering only long enough to deflect the projectile with a sharp pinging sound, and a flash of light.

The trooper continued to hold down the trigger, juking the weapon to spray the railgun rounds in hopes of bypassing Celestia's micro-shields.  The act was futile.  Within moments, the Augment had depleted his clip.  As he moved with preternatural speed to reload, Lantry cross drew his pistol and fired.

The General likewise depressed the trigger and allowed the fully automatic weapon to deplete its extended magazine within two seconds.  He did his best to direct the stream of fire at the Augment's head.

The soldier swiveled his head, stepping forward slowly, but inevitably.  Every time Lantry re-directed the stream, the Augment sidestepped it with almost no effort.

As the Augment approached the Equines, he slammed Lantry to the side with one outstretched elbow.  The force of the blow was enough to send the General staggering back several paces, with the resounding crack of broken bones.  

Lantry collapsed to the floor with a grunt, and clutched at his chest.

The Augment raised his RAC, and brought it down in a glimmering arc, aimed directly at the Alicorn's skull.

With a resounding 'CLANG,' Celestia raised one foreleg, and blocked the motion smoothly with her gold plated ceremonial hoofguard.

For a moment, the soldier froze.  Celestia stared into the reflective dull silver faceplate of his helmet, her muzzle locked in a seemingly emotionless firm line.  Her eyes, however, betrayed her inner anger.

Before the Augment could re-evaluate the situation, and re-task his weapon, Celestia's horn sparked once more.  An enormous jet of purple energy, interlaced with sparking gold filament arcs, slammed directly into the Augment's chest.

The kinetic release of the spell pushed the Augment back several feet.  The man had to tense, and adjust the orientation of his legs sharply to remain vertical.  When the spell ceased, however, he seemed largely unscathed.

Celestia took a halting step back.  Carradan offered her a concerned glance, "I take it that was supposed to be more...  Errr... Well...  More?"

The Alicorn tilted her head, and grit her teeth, "Indeed.  But I have dealt with magically immune opponents before."

She cast a swift glance at Carradan, then at Skye, "All the same, any help you're willing to offer would not be unappreciated, my little Ponies."

Carradan chuckled, a hint of fear tainting the undertones of the sound.

"Yeah.  Sure...  I mean...  I've faced scarier looking guys in the last seven days."

Skye grinned, "This guy? Pahffft.  We'll be finished with him before the Gryphons are even half done."

Celestia fixed her eyes on the Augment, which had stepped back into her zone of influence, and begun to circle warily.

"Very well then.  Do exactly as I say, and when I say."





GMT: 14:06:32
PDT: 07:06:32
Ragnar: +01:06:32

Shierel sighed.  When she had rolled out of her impromptu nest of pillows at four in the morning, she had planned on a simple, enjoyable, slow day.  An abbreviated training session with new Converts in the morning, an extra-large lunch of fresh imported meat, and then a half-day off to simply revel in the unique thermals and wind patterns of the bay area.

Then everything had exploded.  And summarily caught fire.

The Gryphoness sighed, and accelerated her lope across the marble floor as another set of thunderclap-like sounds heralded the impact of ten more L-RAC rounds at various locations across the city.

The San Francisco Conversion Bureau was already one of the largest on the planet.  Since the Barrier had begun to encroach on New York, further renovations and extensions had begun in earnest.

The facility was slated to take over from the New York office as one of the main hubs of the Bureau network within three months.

Shierel had answered the call when a request was put out amongst the more experienced warriors and trackers of the Gryphon kingdoms.  Many of the Gryphons who had been working at the New York Bureau were taking the chance to step aside and pursue other callings on Earth, or return home.

That left vacancies in the training rotations, and Shierel had decided that it would be just as much an opportunity for her to cross-train in Human tactics, ideas, and weapons as for her to train a new generation of warriors-to-be.

As she approached a small gaggle of Humans and Ponies, who were conversing animatedly in front of the atrium's elevator banks, the Gryphoness slowed her pace to adjust an ill-fastened gauntlet.

When the first shells had started falling, she had shrugged on her armor with uncharacteristic haste, and as a result half of the straps were poorly aligned and morosely loose.

She flicked one ear forward as she walked up to join the group, fiddling all the while with her right wing joint guard.

One of the Humans, an upper level ConSec officer, was gesticulating wildly in the direction of his two subordinates, and a short white Unicorn with a long pink mane.

"Look, there is *no* reason to think that we're at risk here.  The shelters under this building are hardened, and the military---"

The Pony, whom Shierel recognized as the head of the Bureau, shook her head and grit her teeth in frustration, making a herculean effort to remain calm and polite as she cut the man off.

"The PER do not use weapons of this scope on civilian populations.  The only other Humans foolish, and wicked enough to turn an artillery battery on their own kind are the HLF.  That means that in a matter of moments, they will turn it on this structure!  When they do? Nothing will survive.  We must *evacuate* before anyone else dies needlessly."

The sergeant pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Look, miss, I'm telling you, it's safer in here than it is out there.  The military---"

Shierel interrupted harshly, "Is a smoking crater sergeant.  Or haven't you taken a look out the window recently?"

The man turned and glared, sizing up the brown, gray, and tawny Gryphon with a critical gaze.

"And you are?"

Shierel snorted, "A hell of a lot more qualified of a tactician than you."

As the man blustered, practically spitting tacks between his lips, the Gryphoness turned to the Unicorn.

"I've tried raising regional military and JRSF command on the comms.  Everything is dark.  You're right.  We have to assume that the only support we've got is whomever is in this building right now."

She turned, and pointed fiercely at the Sergeant with one talon, as she finished the thought. 

"And you can be *damn* sure that the HLF will be spending every last round in the ammo rack on this building just as soon as they're done with the hardened military targets."

She gestured up at the immense glass and steel dome of the atrium, for emphasis.

"That gives us a vanishingly small space of time to get out of this building and scatter, or end life as a crater.  I'm leaning towards the former, if it's all the same to you."

The man glowered.  Shierel, and the Unicorn, returned the hardened gaze.  Finally, the officer grunted, and tapped at his earpiece. 

"Sound the evac call.  Every living soul out of the building in the next two minutes or less.  Scatter to the Earthquake rendezvous points.  I want all combat trained personnel to grab any assets close to hand and form fire teams.  Escort and defend the civilians through to the external shelter points.  Let's *MOVE* folks.  Flush the lead out."

The Unicorn glanced up at Shierel, and mouthed a silent thanks.

The Gryphoness smiled, winked, and cycled her RAC.





GMT: 14:07:24
EST: 10:07:24
Ragnar: +01:07:24

Klarien glared at the seven assault troopers as they burst through the door.  Their heavy boots clanking against the thin carpet provided an eerie offset to the constant hiss and click of their sealed rebreathers.

"You're late."

One of the men glared.  Klarien's heat sensitive vision could make out the man's face, despite the reflective nature of his helmet's visor.

"Well we can't all breathe toxic fumes and punch down walls.  Some of us are still Human."

Klarien hissed, abruptly snagging the man's left arm in the steel vice grip of his right claw.

"And you'd do well to remember that some of us gave up *much* so that the rest of you could stay that way."

The man winced as the Dragon released his arm.

Klarien took a step back and snorted, "You have the authorization index?"

A female corporal stepped up, and tapped a small titanium case strapped to her right thigh.

The green Dragon nodded, "Right then.  Let's get this done."

Klarien turned to the door behind him.  The portal was an immense steel and titanium construct, sealed with a pair of magnetic interlocks, and designed to defy even a direct strike with a large grenade or breach charge.

The letters 'PAL' were stenciled on it in red paint.

The Dragon cracked the knuckles of his foreclaws, and gripped the frame on either side.  With a grunt, that slowly metamorphosed into a thunderous roar, he squeezed.  Gradually, the frame began to deform with a wail, as the metal was pushed well beyond its normal tolerances.

At last, with a sound somewhere between the 'CRACK' of a gunshot and the 'CLANG' of an immense bell, the door popped free and fell to the corridor floor, a twisted heap of useless slag.

Klarien grinned at the stunned troopers,  gesturing towards the room beyond, "After you."

The seven troopers filed into the space, and Klarien squeezed in after.

The door was a tight fit, but the room itself was more than large enough to accommodate the Humans and the Dragon, with room to spare.

Laid out like a slice of pie, the door was at the vertex of the angle, while the arc at the other end of the chamber was taken up with a large inactive holoscreen.  The intervening floor space was mostly dominated by a large semicircular hardened console that had an unusual number of data ports and physical switches for a modern terminal.

Klarien stepped up to the console, bringing the system and the holoscreen to life with a deft swipe of his claw.

He gestured over one shoulder as he continued his work, "Prepare the firing index."

The female soldier detached the hard case from its magnetic connector point, and tapped a short sequence of numbers into the keypad on the locking mechanism.  She then handed the device to the fire team commander, who typed in his own code.

The case popped open with a hiss, just as Klarien finished booting up the room's systems.

A stern male voice issued forth from hidden speakers.

"Permissive Action Link terminal initialized.  Standing by."

Klarien smiled, and began to pace in the short space between the two ends of the console.

"Recognize;  Klarien.  JRSF Authorization Sigma Four Seven One Break Four Four Green."

The computer chirped obediently.

"Recognized."

Klarien stopped, and glanced up at the holoscreen, "Display battle net status, and update us on major system-wide alerts and protocols."

The computer beeped again, and a map of the world filled the screen, along with several orbital tracks, a grid overlay, and a host of icons and alert symbols.

The fire team commander glanced up at the Dragon, "Now?"

Klarien nodded, "Now we wait for the phoenix to burn."





GMT: 14:09:05
PDT: 07:09:05
Ragnar: +01:09:05

The bullet grazed an unprotected portion of the edge of Fyrenn's wing.  The pain was brief.  A hot flash, then a dull throb.  The damage was minimal.  Practically a cauterized millimeter-deep scrape, if that.

The implications of the nearly-successful shot were far more grave, however.

Fyrenn realized abruptly, as he parried another incoming blow from the Augment's bayonet, that if he didn't win the battle within a few moments, he wouldn't win it at all.

Every single instinct within him was screaming for him to spread his wings and take to the air.  Gain the tactical advantage his body was built for.

But in the tight confines of the corridor, lofting into such a closed space with so many rounds zipping past would be suicidal.

The Augment tried to level his rifle once more, and Fyrenn brought his own up to block.  The weapon's discharge zipped away above his head.  He tried to twist his RAC to bear, and squeezed his own trigger in anticipation of a sight picture, but the Augment ducked at the last possible moment, and lashed out with one leg.

Fyrenn dove to the side, and brought his left wing down on the man's helmet as hard as he could.  The joint-guard connected satisfyingly with the faceplate, and Fyrenn's momentum imparted enough force to shatter the plexiglass.

The soldier staggered back and grunted as Fyrenn completed his roll, and came up with his carbine raised and ready.

Even as he depressed the trigger, he grimaced.  The man's face looked as if it had once been a wax sculpture that had since been partially melted in an oven, baked once more until all the moisture was gone, then inlaid with a bizarre random network of glowing orange filaments and scars.

Fyrenn's first five rounds found their marks in the man's forehead, left eye, neck joint, left arm joint, and right knee joint.  The Augment's movements stuttered with each impact, but the man kept coming nonetheless.

Despite his incredible resilience, Fyrenn detected a noticeable decrease in the soldier's reaction times.  The Gryphon smiled.

"You're dead.  And you know it."

The soldier responded with a series of harsh electronic tones, that were barely recognizable as words.

"My life for Humanity."

Fyrenn dropped his rifle with a clatter, reached over one shoulder, and drew his sword.

"You want to die for your cause? I'm happy to oblige."

The soldier tensed as Fyrenn twirled the sword.

The Augment leapt to the side, and threw his rifle like a spear.  Fyrenn ducked, and knocked the weapon easily out of the air.  As he completed the motion, the soldier closed to melee range, and began to attack wildly with his outstretched arms.

As the man's limbs pinwheeled at speeds impossible for a natural-born Human to see or replicate, a pair of large serrated blades erupted from beneath the gauntlets of both forearms.

Fyrenn parried each blow from the right arm with his sword, and from the left with his wing-guards in an alternating pattern.  

Before, the assault would have been a dangerous challenge, but with the soldier's left arm speed severely limited, the task was made considerably easier.

As Fyrenn took a series of careful steps backwards, he patiently planned his disarmament strategy.  Damaged left arm. 
Reaction speed limits to sixty percent of average.  Damaged skull plate and shattered face guard.  Large cranial weak spot exposed.  Damaged right knee joint.  All right turning actions impaired significantly.

The red Gryphon smiled as he continued to twist his weapon around and around in a sleek, elegant pattern of interlocking defensive motions.

He watched carefully as the Augment brought down his right arm in a sweeping vertical strike, and he knew the moment was right.

Fyrenn brought his sword up as if to block the downward strike, while simultaneously moving his right wing as if to attack the man's weakened left arm.

Predictably, the soldier was too damaged and preoccupied to see the ruse.  He reacted precisely as expected.  He twisted his right arm to try and redirect the force of his blow in order to break Fyrenn's guard.  In order to avoid a potentially critical wound, he pivoted to the right to pull his left arm out of the path of danger.

Fyrenn took a single nanosecond to watch the elegant ballet of physics, just to be absolutely sure his maneuvers would do maximum damage.

Abruptly the Gryphon twisted his sword down and away.  He moved his left wing in to impact the Augment's right arm from the side, redirecting his strike and severely damaging the underlying bones of the arm.

He brought his right wing across, flexing the joint in just the right way to deploy the hidden blade sequestered in the joint guard.

As the newly revealed weapon pierced the side of the trooper's weakened helmet, Fyrenn brought his sword around and to his left, severing the Augment's right weakened leg before he could react and retract the limb from danger.

All at once, the moment was over.  The Augment collapsed to the floor, right arm broken inwards on itself, right leg missing, and the left side of his head split open with a five inch gash.

Fyrenn quickly moved his right back paw forward, and gripped the man's neck with his back claws.

As he raised his sword, in preparation for severing the soldier's head from his shoulders, the man tensed once more.  Fyrenn tightened his grip, in anticipation of an escape attempt.

Instead, the man raised his damaged left arm, and pointed his fist at Fyrenn, as if making one last defiant gesture.

Fyrenn saw the barrel of the hidden railgun at approximately the same time that his ears registered a loud report, followed by the sickening thud of a round entering flesh.  

The soldier's body went limp as the front of his face exploded outward in a shower of circuitry and orange coolant liquid.  Fyrenn glanced down first at the man's hidden weapon, which had somehow materialized from a hidden compartment in his elbow, then up at the source of the well-timed shot.

Neyla stood triumphantly on the body of her own mangled opponent, RAC-9 clutched tightly in both claws, one eye gleaming out over the weapon's iron sights.

She lowered the weapon and smirked.

"You're out of practice."

Fyrenn glared, and plunged his sword down into the Augment's twitching corpse, directly through his neck and into the spine, severing the main nerves and data trunks once and for all.

Neyla raised an eyebrow, "No matter how hard you stab him, it doesn't make him your kill."

The red Gryphon rolled his eyes, as he did his best to keep a patronizing tone out of his voice.

"Shooting the head once hardly qualifies as a kill in this case.  They're only dead when they stop twitching."

The blue and tan Gryphoness shrugged her wings, "You still owe me for---"

Fyrenn yanked his sword loose, and carefully wiped the blade on the fabric portions of the dead soldier's armor, "For what?  Wasting a perfectly good round?  I had him sorted."

Neyla rolled her eyes, and set about ejecting her spent clip, "Have you even used the current series of armor and weapons before today?  I'm guessing no.  Because it most definitely shows."

Fyrenn stepped casually over to his own rifle.  He snagged the weapon's strap with one back claw, and gave it a short, sharp lift into the air.  Without even looking down at the weapon, he caught it in mid-air, ejected the spent clip, substituted a new one, closed the breech, reset the capacitor, and toggled the safety.

He then raised the weapon in a single claw, stretched it out to his right side, and pulled the trigger three times in rapid succession.

Each shot found its mark within the back of the remaining Augment's head.  The soldier staggered, and lost his momentum, allowing Lantry to hobble forward, and plunge his tactical knife into the base of the soldier's neck, severing his brain stem and shutting him down for good.

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, keeping his gaze fixed on Neyla.

She glowered as she finished cycling her own weapon.

"Arrogant showoff."

Fyrenn snorted.

"Self-interested lunatic."

Lantry coughed, and grunted, putting as much force into his words as he could, given his cracked ribs.

"Childish fuck-off bird brains.  That's what you two are."

Carradan shook his head as he finished wiping orange goop off one of his back hooves.

"Call it whatever you want General;  I call it a damn good show. Anyone have any popc--"

Fyrenn, Neyla, and Lantry all fixed the rotund Pegasus with a death glare, accompanied by a perfectly timed chorus of reprimands.

"Shut up Stan."
> Chapter 25
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:07:12
PDT: 07:07:12
Ragnar: +01:07:12

Though Retribution had long since expended her entire payload of VLS warheads, she continued to pummel the Blue Ridge with her two mid-range deck cannons.

Since the initial barrage, the Carrier had done very little besides erupt smoke and flames, and limp several thousand feet forward on emergency power.

Then, suddenly, the ship's immense magnetohydrodynamic drives roared to life.  A fantail of excited foaming spray burst from the rear, and starboard side of the nimble vessel, and it began to rapidly accelerate into a tight combat turn.

At nearly the same moment, the ship's previously silent railguns sprang to life, homing in on the Retribution's torpedo tubes, conning tower, deck guns, and steering vanes.

Though the weapons' effective rate of fire, and accuracy, were decreased by the removal of AI targeting, the close range eliminated the majority of potential gunner error.  

Streams of nearly-liquid tungsten poured from the barrels of the small short-range defensive emplacements as they disgorged hundreds of rounds per second each.  The fiery lances tore into Retribution mercilessly, clogging one torpedo tube, placing a twenty foot gash in the side of the conning tower, and knocking off one diving plane entirely.

The sound was so loud, it burst the ear drums of fleeing civilians as far back as ten blocks into the city.  It was as if a relentless god-sized jack hammer had descended upon the harbor.

The submarine retaliated in kind, focusing its two deck guns on the Blue Ridge's bridge, in an attempt to kill the command crew.  The first shots went wide as the Blue Ridge abruptly ceased its turn, slamming instead into the rear of the island, tearing a three deck by fifty foot chunk out of the superstructure.

Bodies, metal fragments, and glass sprayed everywhere behind the carrier.

The second wave of enemy shells was mostly deflected by the CIWS gun, the close range allowing it to guesstimate the normally untargetable shells' trajectory based purely on the direction the enemy's guns were pointing.

At long last, the Blue Ridge's torpedo control systems were abruptly restored.  A series of menacing cylindrical protrusions erupted from hidden panels along the upper outer edge of the hull.

Without pause, or mercy, the tubes discharged a flurry of small close-range defensive torpedoes that fell outwards in a graceful arc towards the water.

Upon dipping into the sea, the six weapons arced out and around towards the Retribution, weaving and ducking to avoid the submarine's own CIWS.  The HLF's defenses managed to neutralize two of the offending warheads, but the rest impacted the hull directly in four concurrent fireballs.

It became suddenly and imminently clear to both crews;  The Blue Ridge was not going to go down especially easily.





GMT: 14:09:05
PDT: 07:09:05
Ragnar: +01:06:05

The impact of one reinforced armor plate against another produced a severe jolt that left Stan's back right leg feeling slightly numb.

He winced, and backed away as quickly as he could.  

The Augment tried to give chase, but found himself stepping directly into the path of one of Celestia's hoofguards.

The force of the blow staggered the Alicorn backwards several steps, but also managed to shatter the soldier's protective faceplate.

Skye seized on the opportunity to launch her own assault.  Nimbly flicking out a set of hidden sharp edges in her foreleg guards, she launched herself upwards with the power of her back legs, and swiped at the Augment's exposed eyes with both hidden blades.

The soldier managed to thwart half of her assault, viciously shoving one of her legs aside, causing the bones to squeal under the stress.  The second blade, however, raked directly across the trooper's eyes.

As the Unicorn fell back, wincing and cradling her bruised leg, Lantry pulled himself groggily to his feet, and scooped up his pistol.  As the General feverishly reloaded, doing his best to ignore the shooting pains in his ribs, Celestia pressed the attack to keep the Augment off balance.

At last, Lantry completed his task.  The Alicorn fell back to avoid placing herself in the line of fire.

Lantry once again pulled back on the trigger and loosed the weapon's entire contents towards the soldier's weakened helmet.

The rounds again failed to stop the cybernetically enhanced man, but several of them flew straight and true, impacting directly through the front of the unprotected skull.

The damage produced a noticeable slowing effect in the soldier's movements.  Orange bio-coolant sprayed everywhere, even coating Stan's back hooves as he got in an opportune buck to the Augment's neck.

The Pegasus paid for his actions as the Augment lashed out with his RAC's bayonet at blinding speed, striking directly on the weakest spot in the Pony's leg armor.  The assault put a large cut into Stan's back right leg.

Carradan winced and grunted in pain, hobbling out of the soldier's range as quickly as he could.  Having determined that the two Ponies were a considerably larger threat than he had first thought, the Augment raised his rifle, and turned it on Carradan.

Before he could pull the trigger, a series of shots rang out from across the room.  As three concurrent blooms of orange and gray biomatter plumed away from the Augment's head, Lantry hobbled forward, and plunged his K-bar into the soldier's neck, severing the main control trunks that ran along the brain stem.

As the remainder of the group began arguing in animated tones, Celestia stepped to the side, and glanced down at Skye.

"You have a...  Concerning, and unusual tolerance for violence young one."

Skye shrugged, "I tend to think of it as an advantage, actually.  If we hadn't killed him, he would have gladly splattered us all over the back wall.  If you can't raise a hoof in defense of your life, you're gonna have a hard time keeping hold of it when things get messy."

Celestia raised an eyebrow, "Did the Gryphons teach you that?"

The Unicorn glanced to the side as the other argument predictably ended in a chorus of voices, shouting down Carradan.

"In a way, your highness.  But never let it be said that I didn't put in the extracurricular effort to get it right."





GMT: 14:15:14
EST: 10:15:14
Ragnar: +01:15:14

"Alert! Phoenix Contingency has been declared."

Klarien glanced up at the roof reflexively, and grinned.  He turned to the panel, and placed one claw carefully on an embedded sensor, to allow a DNA sample to be taken.  As the computer processed the biometric authentication, the Dragon spoke, slowly and clearly.

"Recognize that this facility is under attack, including a biological weapon assault, and a digital incursion."

"Recognized and confirmed."

"Recognize that all officers are dead, or incapacitated, except for myself, and recognize that the central AI is offline."

"Recognized and confirmed."

"Recognize that I have provided an officer's level-red authentication code, and accompanying biometric access credentials."

"Recognized and confirmed."

"Recognize and confirm that Phoenix Contingency has been declared."

The computer paused for an agonizingly long moment.  The fire team shuffled awkwardly as Klarien stared expectantly at the main monitor.

At last, with an accompanying two-tone, the response came.

"Recognized and confirmed."

Klarien grinned, and gestured to the corporal, who brought the firing index chip forward, and held it out expectantly.  The small shard of blueish-green etched data crystal glittered from amidst its hardened gray titanium casing.

The Dragon tapped at several keys, and continued his cryptic string of orders.

"Under operant guidelines of the EarthGov emergency code, based on all conditions that have been recognized and confirmed, I am requesting control over-ride protocol Gemini."

The computer once more descended into a prolonged silence, before responding.

"Gemini control protocol over-ride granted."

Klarien shifted one claw to a series of physical switches, and began opening the safety covers.

"Recognize Klarien, acting as interim base commander under Gemini protocol, authorization Sigma Four Seven One Break Four Four Green."

"Authorization acknowledged.  Command interlock one enabled."

A loud tone sounded, and one of two empty circular icons in the corner of the main screen turned an alarming shade of amber.

"Recognize Klarien, acting as interim base arms master under Gemini protocol, Sigma Four Seven One Break Four Four Green."

"Authorization acknowledged.  Command interlock two enabled.  Dual authentication in place."

The loud tone sounded again, and the second circular icon filled with an amber light.

Klarien began flipping the switches in quick succession as he continued without pause. 

"Open the Permissive Action Link at Defense Condition One action level."

A bevy of lights came on across the console, and the main screen went wild with changing data and indicators.  A deafening triple klaxon sounded, and the room's lights dimmed.

"Defense Condition One declared.  Permissive Action Link open."

The green Dragon took the firing index delicately in two claws, and moved it over an empty data port of identical shape near the center of the console.

"Prepare to receive firing index."

The computer responded with a positive tone.  Klarien carefully pressed the chip into the proffered slot, applying firm pressure until the object locked completely into place.

The main screen changed abruptly, focusing in on the orbital track map, and displaying two windows of concurrent satellite telemetry.

"Firing index recognized: THOR system link established.  Weapon available.  Handshake protocols completed.  Basic telemetry diagnostics completed.  THOR standing by for permissive action link instructions."


Klarien grinned widely as he began to manipulate the controls.

"Judgement comes from above."





GMT: 14:15:25
PDT: 07:15:25
Ragnar: +01:15:25

"Go go GO!"

Shierel reached out and snatched up the last Pony in line, slinging the young colt over both shoulders like a sack of potatoes and bolting for the exit doors.

The convert was only several hours post-potion, and hadn't quite yet learned the full use of his new legs.  His parents seemed to have figured out the basics, however, and seeing that their son was in safe claws, followed at a dead gallop.

Much to the Gryphoness' relief, the group she was escorting represented the next-to last batch of evacuees.

Only a few dozen more converts and staff were left, and several ConSec troopers had already passed her on their way in to usher the remaining personnel out.

As she passed through the enormous sliding doors and onto the Bureau's expansive synth-turf lawn, Shierel allowed herself to relax ever so slightly.

The lawn overlooked most of the bay area.  Normally the vista was a beautiful expanse of synthetic grass, swimming pools, and modern high wealth dwellings, framed in the background by San Francisco's mega skyscrapers, and the artful swoops of the new golden gate bridge.

Now the view was dotted with ugly charred blotches of smoke and fire.

Shierel barely had time to take stock of the view.  A moment later, her tension returned in earnest.

The Gryphoness sensed the change in pressure on a subconscious level long before the tertiary effects of the compression wave became consciously detectable.  The tiny prickling at the back of her mind, however, was more than enough to set off her survival instincts.

She had no time to shout, she merely tossed the colt off her shoulders and in front of her, wrapping her wings tightly around the young Pony and curling into a protective ball as she did so.

Shierel hit the edge of the turf where it bordered the road, and just barely managed to place a parked maintenance truck between herself and the Bureau before all hell broke loose. 

The Gryphoness rolled to cover at about the same time as the rounds impacted the building behind her.

The shockwave hit first, forcing her down into the pavement as the pressure momentarily jumped to several times atmospheric norms.  Within a tenth of a second, the ear-splitting roar of the sound followed.  

And then the searing heat, and particulate debris, as nearly everything within a half mile radius dissolved into a fireball.





GMT: 14:16:44
PDT: 07:16:44
Ragnar: +01:16:44

At first, Fyrenn thought he would have to pull the trigger.  The officer in front of him was clad in a tattered suit of armor that barely bore any visible markings.  It didn't help that the man was pointing a RAC directly between the Gryphon's eyes, as if doing so would somehow present an obstacle to Fyrenn disemboweling him casually.

Fyrenn had happened upon the soldier as he ventured forth into the complex's atrium ahead of the group.  The man had immediately raised his RAC, and prepared to fire.  Fyrenn responded in kind.

But as his talon began to put the initial burst of pressure on the trigger, Fyrenn's eyes picked out a telltale 'EARTHGOV' patch above the left breastpiece of the man's armor.

The Gryphon sighed in relief, and lowered his weapon.

"You really should scrape some of the ash off your uniform.  I nearly blew you in half."

The man gulped as he lowered his own weapon, saluting abruptly as Lantry hobbled his way to the front of the group.

The General returned the gesture, speaking with the usual brusk tone of a commanding officer.

"Status report."

"Sergeant Myers sir, with the Earthgov Military Police, Vancouver Office."

Lantry squinted, "Military Police?  Who are you reporting to in Special Forces?"

Myers shook his head forlornly, a hint of exhaustion creeping into his tone.

"All air corps and special forces officers in this sector are either dead, or dark sir.  I'm coordinating command and control."

The General sighed and winced, "You have comm lines up?"

The Sergeant nodded, and gestured towards a nearby hallway.

"Partially.  Lots of the surrounding infrastructure got hit, and the HLF are throwing out a lot of jamming in the major frequencies."

The group rounded a bend, to behold a series of tables pushed together into a large circle.  A tangle of communications equipment, paper maps, and DaTabs had been strewn out over the surface.  

A small gaggle of Military Police and security officers were pouring over the objects, occasionally pausing to work the hardened emergency communication sets.

Most of them paused to salute Lantry as the group entered the space, then remained frozen in awe as they caught a glimpse of Celestia.  The Alicorn smiled reassuringly, and the men and women turned swiftly back to their tasks.

Myers gestured to the largest DaTab, which was displaying a map of the city, with manually placed position markers indicating troops on both sides.

"This command post has contact with fifteen fire-teams on the ground.  We've lost all communication with the Blue Ridge, but last reports from the area indicated that the ship was on fire, and under heavy assault.  All air assets are down, and the city is being held under a missile suppression dome, supplemented by two enemy fighters aloft."

Lantry grimaced, "Infrastructure damage?"

Myers shook his head slowly.

"Critical.  All major transit terminals, runways, hangars, and roads were wiped out in the initial assault.  There are at least two superfreighters burning near the mouth of the harbor, preventing surface ships from entering or leaving."

The General waved off a young Corpsman with a medkit, before stabbing his finger towards one of the smaller DaTabs.

"You have a link to the battle net?"

"Not precisely.  We're receiving the basic data streams, but we can't seem to send anything back or establish basic communications handshakes to external sources.  That's not surprising though.  Right as everything went to hell and gone, we were getting reports that Fort Hamilton was under heavy attack from both biological and digital fronts.  They were smart.  They hit C&C for the entire Northamerizone."

Lantry stiffened, "No Satvision connections?"

A young female corporal spoke up from her station. 

"Those bandwidths are being aggressively suppressed.  Any dish large enough to break through the noise was vaporized early on, and none of our portable gear has the juice we'd need."

Myers nodded, "Before that happened though, we were able to make an initial outgoing transmission.  Based on protocol instructions...  Phoenix contingency was declared."

Carradan raised one eyebrow, and glanced up at Fyrenn, mumbling quietly to avoid interrupting the conversation.

"Phoenix contingency?"

As Myers rattled off several more tidbits of relatively useless information, the red Gryphon leaned over and explained in a hushed tone.

"Phoenix Contingency is a safeguard against potential hostage scenarios.  If any member of the council is compromised, either by being placed in direct danger, by being captured, or even if someone in their family is being used as leverage, Phoenix Contingency is declared.  It strips the affected Councilors temporarily of all power, and value, and declares them a non-priority asset.  Essentially marking them as dead already, so they can't be used as coercive leverage, or be coerced themselves.  I've never heard of it happening in my lifetime, let alone to the entire Council."

The General cradled his forehead in one hand, collapsing into a foldable chair and finally allowing the medic to begin dressing his wounds.

"Anything else to report?"

Myers sighed, "There's something from New York on the battle net about the 'P A L,' but we figure that's just---"

Lantry sat bolt upright, and fixed his eyes firmly on the officer.

"Son, I want you to very slowly, and very carefully, read me that entire report verbatim, omitting absolutely nothing."

Myers winced, and snatched up a DaTab, reading haltingly.  The suppressed panic was evident in his voice.

"Ahh...  Uhm...  All it says is; 'D E C one, delimiter, gemini, delimiter, P A L, delimiter, one four one five G M T, delimiter, T H O R.  Message repeats.' And it just keeps pulsing every two minutes."

Fyrenn tensed as he watched Lantry's expression freeze.  Though the man's face remained, on the surface, impassive, Fyrenn could see something behind his eyes that was normally alien to a military officer's face.

Abject panic.

Celestia squinted over Myers' shoulder, "What does it mean?"

Lantry sat back and closed his eyes.  Fyrenn actually thought he detected a hint of mournful regret in the General's worry lines.

"It means they found Thor.  It means that in less than half an hour everyone in this city will be dead, or dying."





GMT: 14:16:52
PDT: 07:16:52
Ragnar: +01:16:52

Mr. Utah pitched forward, barely managing to arrest his fall by slamming both hands into the railing.

The Captain steadied himself by snagging his control console firmly in one hand.

"REPORT!"

The helmsman glanced away from the controls at his status screens.

"We just took another set of torpedoes to the hull.  Starboard rudder and diving planes are taking heavy damage, and we're loosing armor integrity on the port front quarter near torpedo tube two.  Another good hit and we'll have a hull breach.  Their railguns are raking the conning tower.  Two of my scopes are gone and the sensor pallets have been pretty heavily damaged."

Mr. Utah glowered, growling deep in his throat.

"Pull away and descend to bottom.  Get us out of here."

The Captain's eyes widened, "Are you mad?!  We can take them if we just---"

Mr. Utah's eyes flashed dangerously.  The Captain fell silent as his superior spoke in a dark, dangerous tone.

"In a few minutes, they, and everyone else within over one hundred miles on the surface, will be a smoking cloud of ash.  If we remain here we risk our propulsion becoming incapacitated, and thus we risk joining them.  Get us out to sea, and run the boat as deep as the specifications permit.  Now."

The Captain inhaled slowly, and dropped his eyes as he complied.

"Come left two seven four.  Ahead flank speed and descend to two zero feet above the bay floor.  Make your course for open water.  Provide covering fire aft with all functioning guns, and deploy all mines."

As the helm, and fire control officers began to parrot back the orders, and execute them in turn, Mr. Utah straightened his shoulder guards, and glowered.

"And Captain?  While I am here, this boat, and everyone on it, belong to me.  If you ever challenge one of my orders again, I will forcibly vacate you from your post.  Violently.  Do we understand each other?"

The man gulped.

"Perfectly sir."





GMT: 14:18:29
PDT: 07:18:29
Ragnar: +01:18:29

Kephic leaned in close to the General, placing his eyes mere inches away from the man's face.

"Explain.  What is Thor?"

Lantry sighed dejectedly, and the Gryphon pulled back slightly to give him some breathing room.  The remainder of the group stared on with expressions ranging from suppressed fear in the Ponies' cases, to barely restrained anger in Celestia's case.

The General drummed his fingers on the table for several seconds, before finally opening his mouth.

"In the nineteen hundred and fifties, there was a man named Jerry Pournelle.  He worked at what was then Boeing aerospace corporation, before it became Lockheed/Boeing in the later two thousands."

He stood, wincing, and began to pace slowly from wall to wall along the room's lateral dimension, working his arm and injured ribs gingerly all the while.

"Pournelle proposed a weapon, built from orbiting Tungsten coated iron rods the size of large telephone poles, with maneuvering fins and small acceleration motors for firing purposes."

Fyrenn winced, and hissed.

Lantry nodded in empathy as he went on. 

"For those of you who aren't into physics;  The weapon would have virtually no radar cross-section, no detectable launch emissions, and a closing velocity of Mach ten.  Minimum.  A large specimen of the so called 'rods from God' could theoretically impact with the force of a mid-sized cruise missile."

Varan sighed, "And Thor was the result of this idea?"

The General nodded again, resuming his explanation.

"More or less.  According to the history books, Pournelle quit his job to become a science fiction writer.  In truth? The United States had an operating prototype for the project by nineteen seventy eight, which was test-fired in nineteen seventy nine resulting in the so called 'Vela Incident,' and eventually the end of the cold war."

Kephic shrugged, "So we're dealing with something difficult to detect...  But it only has the impact capacity of a standard missile?"

Lantry shook his head, fixing the Gryphon with a morose stare.

"No.  I'm afraid it's much worse than that."

The General swallowed, and returned to his seat, grunting as the nerves around his newly bandaged ribs flared in protest. 

"For the United States, enough wasn't enough.  In Nineteen ninety one, the project was upgraded to twelve orbiting rods on individual separate launch platforms.  Codenamed M-1 through M-12, and passed off as spy and telecommunications objects."

Carradan blanched, "So...  You're saying there are TWELVE of these things up there?"

Lantry shook his head and held up a hand, "Two.  The other ten were ejected onto orbits that would take them into the sun a long, long time ago.  But M-11 and M-12 aren't scheduled to have a viable injection window for another year and a half."

Fyrenn sighed in relief, "Well if its only two rods---" Lantry's expression truncated his sentence awkwardly.

The General swept his eyes from being to being, fixing each with a deadly serious stare in turn.

After a pause, during which no one interjected, Lantry continued. 

"Thor was upgraded five times over the course of its active duty operational lifetime, which extended well into the early two thousands.  The rods on M-11 and M-12 are many times the size of the prototypes, and their density was heightened using a platinum core, in a lead sheath, with a final thin layer of tungsten alloy to prevent atmospheric ablation upon reentry.  Their orbit was raised to 'high Earth' levels, and their launching systems were augmented by initial rail-launch prototypes."

Fyrenn's face fell.  He sighed, and began shaking his head slowly, "Best estimates?"

Lantry sighed as well, taking a deep breath before speaking. 

"Factoring in the max apoapsis, use of Oberth effect on the second stage insertion engine, and the initial boost of the retrofitted rail launcher?"

Skye hissed and squinted, as if in physical pain, as she swiftly ran calculations in her head.  Lantry voiced the statistics from memory.

"They have an estimated closing velocity of thirty kilomach.  Producing the yield of a sixty seven gigaton nuclear bomb."

Fyrenn went physically rigid with the shock of the concept.  Skye gasped.  Carradan looked as if he would vomit.  The reactions of the remaining beings in the room were equally violent.

Neyla began spouting off a string of old Gryphic that Fyrenn could barely follow enough to interpret as a prayer for protection.

Lantry allowed the room time to settle.  Some of the beings were silent.  Others began a series of hushed, but urgent conversations.

Finally, Fyrenn leaned forward and spoke loudly enough to draw the room's attention.

"So...  If we take what we know about the Thor satellites, together with what IJ discovered, it seems fairly obvious that the first rod will be used to strike here.  Today.  Imminently."

Kephic nodded, "And the second...?  New York?  London?  San Francisco?"

Lantry shook his head, "There would be no point.  The HLF isn't interested in wiping out its own kind without better motivation than simply causing pure terror.  The only reason they're resorting to such measures is that they can't find any other way to penetrate the combined force of our security, and Celestia's own powers."

Carradan squinted in confusion, "Then where---"

Skye interrupted in a flat tone, "Canterlot."

The room once more froze in shock.  The Unicorn raised her head, and explained her reasoning in a preternaturally calm voice, borne of a desperate internal defensive reaction to the tide of swelling panic in her gut.

"You said the rods are made from simple, dense materials.  Platinum.  Lead.  Tungsten.  At high enough speeds? Inorganic materials that dense, and that simple, could pass more or less intact through the Barrier, and still retain their density and kinetic energy.  Especially if they've been purified and compressed."

Carradan swallowed hard, "Holy---"

Fyrenn raised a claw, "We passed through Canterlot on our way here, and delivered a warning to Luna...  They are are prepared as they can possibly be at this stage."

Kephic nodded firmly, chiming in to prevent anyone else from speaking out in panic. 

"Our concern has to be this city, the council, and our guest, her royal highness.  Do we have any idea how much time is left?"

Lantry shook his head slowly, "Not in precise terms.  But if they have established the Permissive Action Link, then they have complete control of Hamilton, and therefore of the satellites.  They'll be loaded to launch within a few minutes, and it will only take another fifteen, at most, for the projectiles to arrive."

Fyrenn raised his head, eyes hardened in determination.  As he spoke, he fired off a fervent silent prayer for Hutch's safety, then did his best to focus on the task to claw. 

"Right.  Then we haven't got time to stand here and cry over the end of the world.  We're already two steps behind."





GMT: 14:18:52
EST: 10:18:52
Ragnar: +01:18:52

The distinctive click and whine of a loaded rail pistol was nearly lost amongst the similar sounds of Klarien's claws working the control panel to input coordinate data.

The Dragon caught the subtle cue, however.  He smiled and grunted, not even deigning to turn his head away from his work.

"You're still alive?  You really are one of the more remarkable specimens of Humanity.  It's such a pity you chose to back the wrong side in this."

Hutch coughed, clutching a clear plastic rebreather to his face with one hand, and a pistol in the other.  One shoulder was propped against the open hatchway to the PAL room, and though his aim was shaky, the sidearm was clearly trained directly on the back of Klarien's head.

"Take out the chip, and move away from the panel slowly."

The Dragon continued to work quietly, finalizing the two sets of longitude and latitude numbers carefully.

Hutch winced in pain, did his best to steady his hand, and squeezed the trigger.  The clip emptied in less than two seconds, directing a brilliant stream of molten tungsten directly into the back of the Dragon's skull.

But as quickly as each round arrived, it compacted into a tiny wafer and shot off in some new, random direction, with a loud 'PING.'

Klarien didn't even bother to shift his stance as round after round ineffectually spent its kinetic energy on the impregnable might of his scales, sending out brief showers of sparks from the pure force of the expended momentum and friction.

The Dragon paused to raise one claw briefly.  Two members of the fire team stepped forward dutifully, and relieved Hutch of his weapon, throwing in a harsh gut check, and a punch to his weakened shoulder for good measure.

The General collapsed to his knees just beyond the threshold of the door.

Everyone's attention briefly shifted to the main screen as two sets of coordinates scrolled into the lower right hand corner, and the word 'LOCKED' flashed prominently along the center of the lower edge, accompanied by an indicator tone.

Klarien pressed two more controls, and the status indicator changed to 'LOADING: 00:00:25.'  The time began to tick backwards, second by second.

Hutch made as if to rise, but one of the troopers drove the butt of his RAC forcefully into the General's ribs, eliciting a hacking cough, accompanied by a spray of blood.

Klarien glanced up at the screen, speaking with an almost nonchalant air.

"Queue for firing.  Set release to coincide with apoapsis, and program both packages for second stage insertion at optimal timeframes."

"Weapons programmed.  Provide final authorization."

"Authorize action.  Sigma four one over green nine theta.  Strike, Strike."

A smaller notification box popped up;  'Queued to Fire at Apoapse: 00:10:23'

The green reptile turned, and proffered a sickly sweet grin.

"I like you, General.  So I promise I'll make this painless for you."

Klarien crossed the intervening space in one enormous step.  He pulled Hutch's' face mask away, with an almost tender delicacy.  Despite the fact that the General was in no condition to resist, he tried fruitlessly to raise his arms and bat away at the Dragon's foreleg.

The two fireteam troopers effortlessly pinned the man's arms back before he could accomplish anything.

Hutch stared up into the vaguely luminous emerald orbs of Klarien's eyes with as much hatred and vitriol as he could muster.

Klarien chuckled, "You should be thanking me.  I'm doing future generations a favor.  And I'm offering you a much more pleasant death than the ones that others will suffer today."

Hutch tried to squirm as Klarien leaned in, but the soldiers held him in a vice-like grip that his battered body simply couldn't combat.

The Dragon opened his maw wide, revealing row upon row of glistening white sword-like teeth, and a devilish forked snake-like tongue.

The General forced his eyes to remain fixed open, even as clouds of noxious green toxin began to collect at the back of Klarien's throat.  Hutch was determined to face his death directly.

He felt the air rush past him as the immense reptile sucked in a break in preparation to expulse the pungent, deadly cloud.

And then all at once, it was as if a thunderhead had punctured the roof of the structure.

There was a sound like the roar of a thousand turbine engines, and a light as bright as ten suns.  The cacophony was swiftly followed by a nearly unbearable heat, and the incredibly foul stench of burnt flesh and scales.

Smaller, but painful arcs of secondary electrical runoff leapt across the floor, and through Hutch's knees, causing his body to convulse and his head to spin.  Mercifully, however, the shock seemed to actually dull the pain of his previous injuries.

Both of his captors released him as their own suits of armor began to heat under the strain of diffusing so much current.  It seemed to Hutch as if they were partially caught by the main bolt as a result of their standing position.

The General pulled himself to the side of the room as fast as he could.  He had some idea of what would happen next.

Through the smoky haze, a shining blue shape emerged, filling the entryway with a hundred sharp cerulean edges.

Taranis growled low, and long, as Klarien wobbled to his feet.  The green Dragon had been thrown several feet by the impact of the first attack, and several parts of his scaly hide were still smoking from the punishing bout of electrical judgement that had just coursed through his body.

"You!  You were supposed---"

Taranis grinned, ever so slightly, "...To be on leave?  In all my years of military service, I never took one day of leave during  a crisis.  I'm not starting now."

He raised one scale above his left eye as Klarien tensed, and spread his wings ever so slightly.

"You, on the other claw, might want to make sure you've got some terminal leave lined up."

Klarien made as if to lunge, but the larger and older Dragon beat him to the punch.  Taranis crossed the room at a speed Hutch had previously thought only Pegasi could achieve in such an enclosed space.

His immense hind legs uncoiling like some sort of antiquated war machine's firing mechanism, the Blue Dragon sailed across the intervening space, and connected with Klarien so hard that the force of their scales meeting created a miniature thunderclap with a visible shockwave.

The pair continued on towards the left wall of the chamber.  Klarien's bulk did absolutely nothing to bleed off the astonishing momentum Taranis had accrued.  Together, the two Dragons slammed directly into the wall.  The five inch thick reinforced metal peeled aside as if it were nothing more than a poorly manufactured foil wrapper.

Taranis and Klarien continued their outward journey, passing through another structural wall and out into the Fort's parade ground, their heads and foreclaws locked together in a deadly struggle to gain access to the opponents jugular.

Hutch glanced up as one of the fire team troopers staggered back to his feet, ripping off his helmet and trying to bat away the smoke around his eyes.

"What the FUCK---"

Hutch grimaced, trying to turn the expression into a small smile, "That, son, was a Dragon."

The words seemed to jar the man back to reality, and he fumbled in search of his RAC.

The General at last managed, through the dull throbbing of his cracked ribs, broken collar bone, concussion, and punctured lung, to muster a true smile.

He raised the soldier's discarded weapon.

"And this, I imagine, is what you're looking for."

The crack of the shot was almost entirely muffled by the continued din of the fight outside.  Almost.
> Chapter 26
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:17:36
PDT: 07:17:36
Ragnar: +01:17:36

The roar of the ducted rotors gradually died away into a piercing whine as the engines spun down to idle positions.

Under normal circumstances, a dozen heavy-lift VTOLs would never have been able to fit into downtown Vancouver.  But the HLF's two YF-23s had seen to it that there was a clear landing space.  Nevermind that the LZ had come at the expense of four buildings and a roadway.

Two daisy-cutters had made short work of the 'obstacles' and everyone inside them.

The Heavy Lifters were two generations old.  Their hulks had been bound for boneyards when the HLF appropriated them.  Though aged, they were still highly serviceable.  New power plants and avionics, a structural inspection, and a coat of beige paint had transformed each into a new machine.

As the rear loading ramps dropped in quick succession, the air was suddenly filled with the thrum of old-style gas turbine engines.

From the darkened interior of each aircraft, two heavily armored APCs issued forth, belching clouds of gray smoke from enormous twin exhaust nozzles.

The vehicles were low-slung, angular, and coated in beige digital camouflage.  Silver-tinted slit-shaped viewports studded the front faces, along with a pair of huge carbon fiber bull bars, and two powerful halogen lamps.

The top of each armored monster was graced with a pair of rail autocannons bolted to a single gimbal.

Accompanied by the din of twenty four Honeywell engine blocks revving to maximum, the convoy peeled out into the streets, fanning out into six groups of four as they closed in on their destination.





GMT: 14:17:47
PDT: 07:17:47
Ragnar: +01:17:47

At first Shierel was convinced that the red substance coating her neck feathers was either her blood, or the blood of the colt she had cradled between her wings.  As the ringing in her ears slowly began to dissipate, she took a deep breath.

A sensation of relief flooded through her chest.  The distinctive and overpowering smell of engine coolant told her that the reddish liquid was anything but organic.

As her senses gradually began to recalibrate, new concerns dawned.

The air was thick with a stench two parts charred duracrete, one part leaking coolant and fuel, and one part the faint but unmistakable whiff of seared biomatter.  When the loud pops and snaps of overloaded junction boxes weren't overpowering all other sound, it was easy to make out a myriad of screams, cries for help, and even soft weeping.

The Gryphoness staggered to all fours, and cast about fervently for her charge.  The young colt had rolled away from her protective embrace, but had not gone far afield.  He seemed fairly lucid, and was moving about in a dazed state, calling out for his parents.

Shierel paused and took stock of her own injuries.  She realized quickly that she was not seriously hurt in any way.  The vehicle she had taken shelter behind had absorbed much of the heat, gas, and shrapnel that would have otherwise slain her.

Nonetheless, her back right paw felt as if it had a severe sprain, and from the itching tingling sensation on her back, she knew she was mildly burned, and abraded, in several spots.  The pain was easily dismissed, however, indicating that the injuries would eventually heal with a minimum of fuss.

Her armor had saved her from the remaining shrapnel, and from a more serious scorching.

Aside from the sprain, and the burns, her main problem was that she was coated in a thick layer of pavement dust and coolant.  The gunk would make it impossible to fly with any sort of precision at high speed if it remained.

She stretched out both wings and shook herself vigorously, managing to dislodge the vast majority of the heavier material over the course of several seconds.  A few pieces of her armor fell away too, having been partially shattered by the force of incoming projectiles.

As the Gryphoness moved to usher the Colt away from the curb, and into the clear space on the other side of the street, she realized that something was missing.

After a moment of intense thought, the answer dawned on her.  There were no sirens.

Having been involved for several years with military actions on the Earth side of the Barrier, Shierel had become accustomed to the unique sound of emergency vehicle sirens as a mournful orchestra accompanying any major disaster.

The familiar tones could occasionally be heard in the distance, but it was clear that no one had responded to the crisis at the Bureau itself.

Shierel knew that could mean only one thing;  The situation was so bad, that there simply weren't enough vehicles and personnel left to respond to new disasters.

She swiftly pulled the young colt towards her with one wing, and accelerated her pace.

Out of the smoke, a pair of figures emerged.  Shierel carefully shepherded the colt into their waiting arms as soon as she noted the ConSec emblems on their tattered sleeves.

"Take care of him.  I wouldn't be surprised if he has a mild concussion.  Make sure he's observed around the clock for at least twenty four hours..."

The Gryphoness paused, then abruptly yanked off one of her foreleg gauntlets.  She flipped the carbon scored piece of titanium-dipped ceramic over, and tapped one talon against the bar code etched into the inner lining.

"This is my service code.  When this is over, if he's unclaimed, I want you to list me as his next of kin, and contact me immediately."

She pressed the chunk of metal into one of the soldier's hands, and he nodded in understanding.  Shierel paused, then bent her head down, and stared into the colt's tear-filled brown eyes.  The orbs were wide with shock and fear.

"It's going to be alright little one.  I promise."

Shierel reached down and cradled the young Pony against her neck with one wing.

"Go with them.  They'll keep you safe.  Do you understand?"

She withdrew, and watched as the colt nodded meekly.  She forced as much of a smile onto her beak as she possibly could under the circumstances, then turned to face the unfolding disaster that had once been the San Francisco Conversion Bureau.

The thirty story central building, and adjacent compound of shorter, wider structures, had been reduced to a crater.

Smoke from a dozen tertiary fires provided an eerie backdrop for the twisted frames of the remaining structural members.  To Shierel, it looked like nothing so much as the skeleton of an Elder Dragon, bleaching away in the fog.

She picked up her pace briefly, then staggered to a halt as a pair of prone forms materialized in the smoke.

It only took a cursory examination to identify them as the young colt's parents.  A difference in position of mere yards had condemned them to death by the million cuts and gouges of shrapnel.

Intellectually, Shierel knew that the situation could have been unspeakably worse.  Fewer than a dozen had died, out of the thousands who might have if they hadn't acted as soon as they did.

Emotionally, the Gryphoness had a far less cogent grasp on perspective.

She could feel the rage building inside.  A sensation akin to blazing fire coursing through her veins, as if someone had filled them with oil, and set them alight.  

And she had no intention of standing in its way.

Shierel raised her head slowly, and scanned the horizon to the south east.  A tell-tale flash twinkled through the haze, and several seconds later the staccato sound of rounds leaving a muzzle rumbled in the distance.

She allowed the rage to continue to careen through her system, unabated, until the red mist finally gave way to a startling, preternatural, icy cold clarity.

The men on the hill, behind the controls of the LRAC, died at that exact moment.  They were simply blissfully unaware that an enraged Gryphon was on her way to collect the bodies.





GMT: 14:20:36
PDT: 07:20:36
Ragnar: +01:20:36


Kephic shook his head slowly, "Evacuation would be pointless." 

He tapped at the DaTab with one talon, focusing on a massive red circle that encompassed Vancouver, and most of the surrounding province.

Varan grunted his assent. 

"Anything fast enough to get us outside of this blast radius has doubtless already been destroyed."

Celestia frowned, rustling her wings in agitation as she chimed in sharply.

"All of that aside, I refuse to simply walk away and condemn the innocent people of this city to such a terrible fate."

All three Gryphons nodded quietly in agreement.

Fyrenn shrugged with both wings, and hung his head thoughtfully, "So we stop the rod from hitting the city.  We don't really have any other choice."

Skye's eyes went wide.  The Unicorn tilted her head down and around so she could look the red Gryphon in the face.  Her tone was somewhere on the borderline of panic, and incredulity.

"Do you have any idea what you're saying?  Trying to arrest that kind of momentum is like...  Like..."

Skye groaned and slammed one hoof into the floor in frustration, "It's like trying to stop a maglev train with a rubber band and two paper clips!"

Lantry sighed and shifted in his chair uncomfortably, "She's right.  This weapon was designed, intentionally, to defy all possible forms of countermeasure, or defensive emplacement."

Fyrenn held up one claw for silence, and fixed his gaze on the DaTab.

"I didn't say we were going to stop it from hitting the planet.  I said we were going to stop it from hitting the city."

There was a long moment of pause.  The stillness was accentuated by the chatter of urgent voices over the communication sets, and the distant rumbles and cracks of continued fighting in the streets.

At last, Skye began to nod slowly.

"Ok big guy...  I see where you're going with this.  It takes an equal and opposite force to completely dispel the relative momentum of an object...  But to alter its velocity vector only slightly..."

Fyrenn glanced up and waggled one claw as he finished the thought.

"It only takes a relatively small amount of force, applied in the right place, at the right time.  Same principle runs the asteroid impact avoidance grid.  Their satellites regularly divert planet-killer class objects with only a fractionally small amount of energy expended."

Lantry rose and shuffled over to the camp table, "Even if we could manage to bring this 'relatively small' amount of force to bear, what good does it do us?  If that thing hits anywhere around here we're going to be wiped out by the secondary effects of the impact."

Carradan shook his head, injecting his own opinion swiftly and with great surety. 

"No we won't."

The eyes of the entire group fixed abruptly on the rotund Pegasus.  He shrugged, and smiled sheepishly as he elaborated. 

"What?  I wasn't exactly honor roll in physics, but I do remember that water is great at absorbing force.  And we have a whole ocean of it just over thataway."

He gestured to the west with one hoof for emphasis.

Celestia's brow knit, and she tilted her head, "Would that not cause catastrophic damage nonetheless due to to all the displacement?"

Kephic tapped at the DaTab once more, "Given the choice between being annihilated for sure, or inundated with a giant wave, I think I'll go with the tsunami."

Lantry gestured to several points on the map, "He's not wrong.  Most of the west-coast cities in the Northamerizone have been heavily fortified against earthquakes and tsunamis as a consequence of the bad regional geology.  There would be a lot of damage from a wave that big..."

Skye chimed in to finish the thought, her tone considerably more hopeful.

"But it would be one hundred percent survivable for anyone who could get more than a mile inland.  More than fifty percent survivable for anyone who couldn't."

Fyrenn placed both claws on the DaTab's surface, and pushed them together to back the view out, speaking all the while.

"Most of Vancouver has the additional protection of a barrier landmass.  Seattle is too far inland to be affected.  That leaves only three other populated coastal areas at risk."

Varan nodded once curtly as he spelled out the obvious.

"San Diego, San Francisco, and Los Angeles."

Lantry shook his head slowly, "Presuming we can re-establish comm lines and send a warning ahead of time, we still seem to be forgetting that a 'relatively small' amount of force, in this case, is still quite a lot of energy.  More than any of our regional firepower in the hemisphere could muster, even if we had full command and control linkage to all of it."

Fyrenn inhaled slowly, "How much more?"

The General threw up his hands and sighed, "I can't do that kind of math on the back of a napkin."

Skye smiled slightly.

"I can.  Tell me what we have to work with, and I can at least give you a rough idea."

Lantry exhaled sharply and shrugged, "Yorktown is stationed close to Midway.  She's a carrier though.  The most you can hope for there is a swarm of mid-range warheads.  Then we have the anti-missile defense grids in Seattle, LA, San Francisco, and San Diego.  The only other thing within a thousand miles that can put out a punch like you're looking for is the Tohoku and her battlegroup."

Skye glanced over to Fyrenn for a more in depth explanation, and he obliged.

"A traditional swarm of mid range ship-fired missiles would be a couple dozen warheads, each with the equivalent of a one thousand pound conventional charge.  Each of the anti-missile defense grids will be two or three hundred retractable platforms mounting Helios-type 'rail saw' guns; Thirty six thousand rounds per minute each.  Twelve kilograms per slug.  Muzzle velocity of Mach seventeen."

Skye squinted into the middle distance, then raised an eyebrow, "And the battleship?"

Fyrenn allowed himself a small grin as he spouted off the statistics from memory. 

"Main battery;  Three turrets, three barrels each, sustained fire of forty rounds per minute per barrel.  Muzzle velocity of Mach twenty one, slug weight of one thousand five hundred kilos."

His grin widened slightly as Carradan blanched.

"Secondary fire; Two Helios gun emplacements, six sea-whizz anti-missile defense guns, and four smaller 'gimbal guns' each equivalent to one quarter the damage potential of one main battery turret.  Battlegroup combined armaments;  One cruiser, two destroyers, and three littoral defense frigates, with a total tallied output of approximately two-thirds of the Battleship's raw kinetic force potential."

As Skye furrowed her brow and resumed her calculations, there was another protracted silence, broken only briefly by Stan's quiet snort.

"I will never, ever, insult the Navy ever again as long as I live."

Finally, Lantry whistled quietly, and glanced up at Fyrenn.

"Son, I've been in the military for almost fifty years, and I can't remember even half of that.  Just what the hell do you do with your free time?"

Fyrenn snorted, "I may not be too good at too many things, but if it's a war machine?  There's a good chance I know something about it."

Neyla tried her best to put on a glower, but try as she did, a small hint of appreciative awe leaked through in the upturn at the corners of her beak.

"You need a better hobby."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, "Are you, of all people, saying weapons can't be a good hobby?"

Carradan shook his head slowly, and leaned over towards Celestia, speaking in a mock stage whisper.

"He doesn't need a hobby.  He needs a visit from the love doctor."

Fyrenn's ears perked, and swiveled to the side, followed abruptly by his head.

"Can it."

Before anyone else could fire off a retort, Skye nodded her head and spoke.

"Got it.  I've got it."

The focus of the room instantly shifted to the little tan Unicorn.  She blew a stray wisp of mane from one eye, and shook her head dolefully.

"You're two thirds of the way there, roughly speaking.  But no more than that.  That's a best estimate.  Assuming you want to dump the rod far enough north and west to avoid radiation as a concern, and mitigate resulting wave forces, and assuming all the specifications I've been given about the rod are correct."

Fyrenn glanced over to Lantry, his brow knit with anxiety, ears flattening reflexively.

"The other battleships?"

The General shook his head, "North Carolina is in the south-west Atlantic, South Dakota is off the coast of Singapore, and Falkirk is just east of Sydney."

The red Gryphon scratched nervously at the back of his head with one claw, "Assault RACs?"

Lantry repeated the negative gesture, "Anything of ours land-based with a gun that big on this side of the continent is stowed safely in its base garage.  It'd take more time to co-ordinate activating those assets than we've got left.  And all this assuming we can get the comm lines open both ways again."

Carradan groaned and slammed his head into the edge of the table, "This is not how I wanted to go out---"

Celestia interrupted quietly, "I can provide the remainder."

Lantry closed his eyes for a moment, then fixed the Alicorn with a piercing stare.

"I'm sorry.  What?"

The Princess nodded calmly, elaborating slowly, but firmly. 

"Without access to the sun...  To my sun...  It will be taxing.  Dangerously so.  I will need space, the chance to concentrate un-interrupted for several minutes, and a clear view of your western sky."

Kephic tilted his head, his ears perking up and the feathers of his crest shifting in a display of abject curiosity.

"How is that possible?"

Celestia glanced up at her horn, "It is not just for show.  Nor is my mark.  I can produce...  A great deal of heat and light energy if I wish to.  Particularly during the day time, and particularly when I have an unobstructed connection to the sun.  My sun, at any rate.  The one here is of considerably less use, as I have no direct power over it."

Varan began to tighten the cinches on his armor, "Will you be able to summon enough energy in this place?"

The Alicorn shifted her gaze to Fyrenn.  Her muzzle stiffened in an expression of determination.

"As Fyrenn has already stated;  We have no choice but to try."





GMT: 14:27:02
EST: 10:27:02
Ragnar: +01:27:02

Hutch slammed his fist into the control panel once more, as if sheer force of will would cause the system to accept his credentials.

"Authentication denied.  This action is linked to a different officer's command code."

Before the General could unleash a renewed stream of curses at the console, he was forced to pull his body around the side of the stanchion as quickly as he could.  The sound of RAC rounds pinging off the hardened edges of the control station told him he had just barely missed a deadly brush with the business end of the remaining troopers' RACs.

The HLF were down to five soldiers.  Aside from the one Hutch had recently dispatched, one had been crushed to death under the Dragons as they careened through the wall.

The aural evidence of their ongoing struggle could still be heard by the unaided ear, and from time to time the floor would actually vibrate subtly as one of them impacted a part of the building with particularly great force.

Hutch decided he had more immediate problems.  The five enemies had been scattered by the initial violence of the reptilian outburst, but had soon managed to re-group.  During the precious seconds of reprieve, Hutch had been forced to conclude that resetting the PAL was a pointless endeavour.

The General knew he didn't have the skill to bypass the necessary encryptions in the three minutes remaining.

Further recriminations about that fact were cut short by a shower of sparks.  Hutch braced himself against the back of the console as best he could, in spite of the immense pain in his ribs.

In between the bursts of suppressive fire, he hoisted the dead soldier's RAC over the top of the console and began firing blindly.  

The indiscriminate spray of rounds did very little to hinder the progress of the five soldiers.

Hutch pulled the rifle back to his chest.  He braced himself to swing around the panel, and sell his life as dearly as he could.

Before he could muster the energy to complete the maneuver, he found himself abruptly facing the dull gray muzzle of a RAC-6.

Though in reality the soldier pulled the trigger instantaneously, it seemed to Hutch as if he paused for an agonizing eternity, staring down into the General's eyes through the cracked and scored silver faceplate of his helmet.

At long last, the deafening report of the slug leaving the barrel reached the General's ears.  He felt his chest explode with the anticipation of the ever-so-brief pain he knew the round would cause before it punctured his heart.

For a moment, it almost felt as if the bullet had, in fact, stricken its mark.

It was only after a very real, nearly-silent moment of stunned stillness, that Hutch realized his heart was still beating, albeit at an almost dangerously accelerated pace.

Hutch squinted, and focused on the space between his chest, and the offending rifle.  To his amazement, he managed to resolve the image of the needle-thin, silvery RAC round.

The projectile was hanging, completely motionless, a mere three inches from his body.  The wisps of outgassing, created as the bullet turned the air before it into plasma, were still dissipating around the outer casing.

Several more seconds passed as Hutch, and the HLF soldiers alike, tried desperately to reconcile the paradox of physics that their eyes were insisting was fact.

The stillness was broken, at last, by a sharp 'PING,' as the round dropped harmlessly to the floor plating.

One of the HLF troopers was the first to spot the intruders.  He turned and raised his weapon, only for it to slam backwards into his chest with so much force, that the central piece of his chest plate snapped in half with a thunderous crack.

Hutch pivoted to his right to see one of the most surreal things he had ever glimpsed.

Standing in the doorway to the PAL room, their ragged clothing hanging off them in dirty tattered strips, were two young girls.  By the General's estimation the elder one could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen.  The younger one looked to be nine or ten.

Both of the girls stood with their hands held above their heads, palms facing inwards towards their temples.

Hutch could just barely make out the presence of small, sleek, silvery objects welded to the outside of their skulls.  The devices were mostly concealed by the girls' hair, and would likely have gone unnoticed had they not been glowing brightly with a purple-tinged blue aura.

The implants were generating an audible hum, and visible air distortions.  As Hutch watched in amazement, the distortions intensified, as did the sound.

Another soldier raised his rifle.  The man looked ready to pull the trigger, but his helmet abruptly folded in on itself with a sickening crunch, reducing his skull to an object approximately the size and shape of a small soda can as it shrank.

The last soldiers managed to opened fire, but the action cost them their lives.

As each of the troopers pulled back on their triggers, with practiced coordination, their rifles swung abruptly to the left and to the right, dragging their arms and bodies with them.

Before any of the men and women could react, they had all simultaneously discharged their rifles mercilessly into each others' torsos at point blank range.

Their corpses dropped to the floor with nearly as much synchronization as the troopers had displayed in their last moments of life.  The older girl stepped over the pile of bodies, bringing her within a foot of Hutch.  She glanced down at him, and inhaled sharply as she realized he was conscious.

She slowly raised both hands once more, staring down at the General with sad, but resolute brown eyes.

Hutch feebly raised both hands, trying to muster his voice over the protests of his dry, smoke coated throat.

The younger girl snatched her partner's left arm, and glared up at her reproachfully.

"Sonya!  NO!  You can't!"

The older girl, returned the harsh expression, her voice escaping as a frustrated hiss.

"We *have* to April!  If we let anyone see us, and live?  Minos will bury what's left of us so deep that not even God will be able to find our graves!  Besides, what have these Earthgov people ever done for us?"

April shook her head, "He isn't one of them!  They aren't all that way!  You can't just snuff him out like that!  Not after he's survived this much.  He doesn't deserve that!"

Hutch coughed, and managed to force sounds out of his mouth, despite the raw and wretched tingling at the back of his throat caused by a mixture of blood and ash.

"You have...  My word.  I swear;  Whoever you're afraid of...  He won't find out.  I won't let him."

The older one shifted her gaze to the General, piercing his eyes with a searching stare.

"You promise?  Absolute silence?"

Hutch nodded slightly, unable to bring any more words to his lips.  His vision had begun to swim and cloud over, as if someone had sprayed a thick layer of steam in front of his eyes.  As consciousness abandoned him gradually, Hutch just barely managed to make out the tail end of the conversation.

Sonya sighed, and turned to make her way to the door.

"This kind of decision is going to be the death of us one day April.  I hope you understand that."

The sisters departed the room swiftly, and continued their mission with ruthless and clinical efficiency.

General Hutch slipped deeper and deeper into his comatose state, completely undisturbed by the cacophony of Draconic battle noises wafting up through the hole in the wall.

As the clock struck 14:30:00 Greenwich Mean Time, the computer made its announcement dutifully.

"Launching."

There was no one to hear it.
There was no one to stop it.





GMT: 14:30:00
Ragnar: +01:30:00

Soundlessly, the immense white shapes arced into position, carried by the invisible yet titanic forces of the Earth's gravitational pull.

Both satellites were identical.  Long, thin, hexagonal prisms with the letters 'USAF' stenciled down one side, and the inscription 'THOR' on the other.  Solar panels sprouted from the perpendicular sides in a pair of fan-like arrays.

The objects were pointed along their prograde path, with only a few meters of inward declination betraying their weaponized purpose.  That, and the menacing silvery tip of a spear-like object protruding from the mouth of each satellite.

At precisely 14:30:00 GMT, a concurrent pair of blinding flashes burst forth from the muzzles of the platforms.

The tungsten coated platinum and lead javelins issued forth with such speed, that an observer standing nearby would have missed their passage merely by blinking.  Within a tenth of a second, their dark forms had vanished against the inky velvet backdrop of the void.

The weapons left behind them the damaged wrecks of their launching platforms.  The satellites had been designed to be as light as possible, and had been fielded at a time when rail-launch technology was nascent at best.

The kickback from the magnetically accelerated launch virtually shredded the superstructures.  The forward portions of the launch rails simply sublimated into particulate debris, shedding their excess energy as photons.

Now caught in the inescapable fist of gravity, and further goaded by the astonishing muzzle velocity their launch rails had produced, the rods plummeted into an inward, and downward, spiral, picking up speed with each passing second.

Before the clock had even struck 14:31:00, the rods were already moving so swiftly that not even the force of a nuclear blast could have counteracted their colossal energies.

Impact was inevitable.





GMT: 14:30:22
PDT: 07:30:22
Ragnar: +01:30:22

Fyrenn allowed only the tips of his ears, his eyes, and part of his beak to peek out over the edge of the hatch.

It only took a few seconds of searching to pick out no less than seven hidden troopers.  Most of them were augments, and all of them were spread out across nearby rooftops in tactically advantageous positions that afforded them direct lines of fire.

The red Gryphon lowered himself as slowly, and carefully, as he could until he was sure his movements were no longer potentially visible.  He then allowed himself to drop the rest of the way down the access ladder, into the room below.

Kephic raised one eyebrow, "Well?"

Fyrenn shook his head, "There are at least seven up there.  I'm willing to bet they have backup ground-side as well.  They're watching every last inch of the roof."

The brothers took off loping down the corridor, barely sparing time to check cover positions and flanks.

Kephic grunted, the sound coming out more like a deep rumble in his chest.

"They seem intent on keeping us in this building."

Fyrenn nodded, swiveling his head right to check a particularly shadowed corner of the deserted hallway.

"And why not? They aren't any more sure of the extent of Celestia's powers than we are.  They've tried this how many times and failed miserably?  And think about how many resources they must have committed to get this far.  If they fail...?"

Kephic grinned slightly, "It would cripple them for decades to come.  All the more reason for us to find a timely escape route."

Fyrenn snorted, "Yeah, and I promise you the roof is not the way to go.  Lots of flat and curved surfaces, no cover, and good lines for a crossfire.  I think even we would struggle to get out of that kill box alive, much less her highness, or Stan."

At last, the pair rounded the corner and came bounding into the lobby.  Varan and Carradan arrived simultaneously through one of the opposite doors.  The latter was panting, and practically stumbling over his own hooves in an attempt to keep up with the gold Gryphon.

From his position in a camp chair beside the main table, Lantry glanced back and forth between the two teams expectantly.

Kephic spoke first, jerking one thumb claw over his shoulder for emphasis.

"The roof is a death trap."

Lantry turned his gaze to Varan.  Celestia mimicked the action from her place standing beside Sergeant Myers, and Skye.

Varan shook his head slowly, "All three ground level exits we surveilled were awash in enemy troops.  Two score, minimum, per exit.  All heavily armed augments backed by rocket troopers and grenadiers."

The General sighed and grit his teeth, "They're intent on keeping us locked up here until those weapons hit."

Myers jumped reflexively as his DaTab let out a piercing shrill alarm.  He fumbled with the instrument for several seconds, then stiffened.  Fyrenn watched in concern as the man's face blanched white as a sheet.

Lantry rose shakily, and his eyes hardened.

"They've launched?"

Myers gulped, and nodded slowly.

Celestia flared her wings partially in a display of concerned emotion, "Then time is of the essence.  We must choose a course of action."

Several seconds of silent introspection followed, as every member of the group set their racing mind to the problem of escaping the box they had been encased in.

At length, Fyrenn raised his head, and spoke.  His tone was flat, but resolute.

"I've got us a window.  But it'll be closed soon enough, if it isn't already."

Skye chuckled, though the high pitch of the sound betrayed her underlying fear and worry.

"Is this going to be anything like your other plans?"

Fyrenn allowed himself a small, shallow, predatory grin.

"No.  Better."

Neyla sighed and closed her eyes.

"God have mercy on us all."
> Chapter 27
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:31:32
PDT: 07:31:32
Ragnar: +01:31:32

Sheirel quickly realized that the Bureau's armory had been atomized just as thoroughly as every other part of the building.

Her twin dirks were safely sequestered in sheaths on the inner surfaces of her wing armor.  Her RAC rifle, however, had been discarded in her attempt to save the colt, and subsequently shredded against the pavement by the blast wave.

The Gryphoness knew she would have need of a ranged weapon at minimum, possibly even explosives, to carry out her planned assault.  She cast about furtively, contemplating her options as quickly as she could.  She knew that every second wasted meant more lives would be lost.

As she swept the horizon with her keen golden eyes, she settled her gaze on a small gray shape winding its way down a small access road towards the city.

Focusing in on it, Shierel spied a distinctive crimson JRSF stripe.  The vehicle looked to be a personnel carrier.  Long, hard edged, and mounted on eight heavy-duty dual-tire wheels.

Shierel flexed her wings, cautiously at first, to ensure that there were no fractured bones nor strained muscles.

When her body did not protest, she beat down hard with both wings and rose above the smoke as fast as she could.

The vehicle was nearly two miles away, but crossing the distance took Shierel a mere twenty seconds at her most strenuous breakneck pace.  Gravity, combined with sharp, shallow beats from tucked wings, to avoid drag, allowed her to force her body to reach speeds normally reserved for small propeller aircraft.

She swooped in low over the road, and cut a wide circle to come at the APC from behind.  As she completed the one hundred eighty degree turn, she got her first big-picture look at the devastation the city had suffered.

Aside from the Bureau, nearly a dozen other sites had been reducing to burned out craters.  Tertiary effects from castoff debris, and secondary capacitor explosions, had left a spiderweb of slightly less cataclysmic damage radiating out several blocks from each epicenter.

The sky was thickly laden with a haze of smoke, fed by the out of control blazes present at several of the targets.

The Gryphoness was already well past her usual emotional limits.  The sight did little more than feed the ice cold flames of her fury.  She was not so much out of control, as past the point of words like 'control,' or 'anger,' having any contextual meaning at all.

Shierel braced out her forelegs, and lit on the roof of the APC gracefully, smoothly allowing her momentum to synchronize with that of the vehicle.

The moment was shattered an instant later as the driver realized something had attached itself to his roof.  He slammed on the brakes so hard, that Shierel's claws dug reflexively into the metal of the pilot hatch's handrails.

Her grip was so firm, it left a series of claw-shaped dents in the relatively soft aluminum.  The APC skidded to a stop in a cloud of dust, tires squealing against the pavement in protest.

A moment later, the hatch flung wide, and a young soldier's head and arms were disgorged.  The man looked as if he had been severely startled, and he was clutching his sidearm firmly in both hands, barrel leveled, and safety off.

Shierel calmly reached forward and snatched the weapon out of his hands before the neurons behind his eyes could even finish firing.  Without looking down, she placed the safety back on, ejected the weapon's clip, and cycled the chambered round back out through the intake port.

She quietly handed the weapon, clip, and lone shell back to the man, noting the rank bars on his shoulders as she did so.

"Lieutenant.  I need your rifle, your grenades, and anything else in your vehicle that might be useful as a weapon, or an explosive."

The man stammered for a moment before gingerly doing his best to thread the spare shell back into the clip.

"Ahh...  Uh...  I'm sorry about that...  I wasn't expecting---"

Shierel shook her head slowly, "That's quite alright.  Please Lieutenant.  Time is of the essence."

The man finished threading the shell, and slammed the clip back into the weapon with practiced efficiency, before holstering it at his side.

"Right, right..."  He scrambled out of the hatch, and took the driver-side access ladder two rungs at a time until he was within jumping distance of the pavement.

As the lieutenant strode purposefully to the rear of the APC, Shierel bounded over the rear length of the vehicle, arcing effortlessly over the small rear gun turret to land on the pavement beside him.

He winced slightly in surprise as he reached for the rear door control.  While the hydraulics did their work, shifting the thick combination ramp and door into its open position, the young man dragged one hand through his hair nervously.

Shierel judged him to be no older than his mid twenties, making him not much younger than her if one accounted for the difference in average lifespan, but still slightly young for Human military field service, based on her experience.

As the ramp finally hit the pavement, he turned to size her up.

"So...  If you don't mind my asking; what do you need all of this for?"

The Gryphoness squeezed into the vehicle's rear compartment, and took stock of the supplies within.  She began pulling items off the service rack as she spoke.

"Incase you failed to notice, there is an artillery piece shelling the city."

The Lieutenant stood in the hatchway, straining to get a better view of the equipment Shierel had chosen.

"And...?"

She glanced over her shoulder, one eyebrow raised, as she flicked the 'TEST' switch on a handheld remote detonator, eliciting a small electronic whine, and a flashing green light.

"And what?"

The Lieutenant let out a sound somewhere between an incredulous barking laugh, and a shocked cough.

"And the battle net is down, no one seems to know what the hell is going on, I was told to get down to the naval base, because that's all that's left...  Hell, I'm just a carrier driver...  And you are planning to find, assault, and destroy the enemy position...  Alone?"

Shierel finished loading a smattering of grenades, two blocks of explosives, and a remote detonator into storage slots on her armor.  She turned to the wall and pulled a RAC-8 from its place, leaving the scope and tripod behind.

As she rammed a clip home, and cycled the capacitor, she glanced up.

"Correction. I have found the enemy position already."

As the Gryphoness forced her was out of the APC once more, the Lieutenant stood stock still, rooted to the concrete in shock.

Only when Shierel stretched out both wings and prepared to take flight again, did he find his voice.

"Wait."

Shierel glanced over her shoulder, eyes narrowing, "There isn't time.  I must stop the assault, before anyone else dies."

The Lieutenant shook his head, "*We* must stop the assault before anyone else dies."

The Gryphoness sighed and shook her head, "There are enough dead soldiers out there already.  The last thing anyone needs is for you to join them."

The man took a step forward and stared furtively up into Shierel's eyes, "Yeah;  And there are enough dead people out there period.  The last thing this city needs is for *you* to join them because you were too stubborn and feather-brained to take backup when it was offered."

For a long moment, the pair stood staring each other down.  The Lieutenant was clearly concerned for his safety, but to his credit, he refused to break from the protracted staring contest.

Shierel was not aware of many Humans with that much courage.  She sighed.

Without further ado, nor warning, she grabbed the Lieutenant by his left arm and shoulder, and swung him up onto the roof of the APC once more.  To his credit, he didn't flinch.

As the lieutenant made his way back into the hatch, the Gryphoness fixed him with a curious glance.

"What's your name lieutenant?"

He smiled weakly, blanching as he furtively glanced down at the city below.

"McBride ma'am.  Lieutenant McBride."

Shierel sighed, and returned the smile half-heartedly.

"Welcome to special operations, Lieutenant McBride.  You picked a wonderful day to cast your lot in.  And don't call me ma'am."

"Yes ma'am."





GMT: 14:32:17
PDT: 07:32:17
Ragnar: +01:32:17

"This is your plan?  This is insanity!" 

Stan delivered the words more as a hiss than anything else.  The nearest enemy Augment was over fifty yards away, but the Pegasus felt an impetus to stealth nonetheless.

Celestia shook her head slowly, interjecting quietly, but sharply.

"I agree.  Asking Lantry to stay behind was wise.  Realizing that the roof is a death-trap was canny.  But attempting to brave this gauntlet on hoof?  That would be suicidal."

Fyrenn suppressed a dark chuckle as he peered around the edge of the door frame.  The Princess had sized up the situation with remarkable understatement.

From the group's vantage at the complex's primary bank of exits, they could spot well over a dozen Augments, of various types, to say nothing of the squads of foot soldiers assigned to each one.

Fyrenn spoke calmly as he observed the location of each enemy squad, committing it to memory in the process.

"That's why we're not going to brave the gauntlet by hoof, foot, or paw."

He paused, and carefully pulled back behind the concealment of a structural pillar.

"We're going by vehicle."

There was a long and confused silence, during which all eyes fixated on Fyrenn, as if willing him to explain further.  He obliged.

"The main vehicle bay is right beneath us.  For now, we split up.  Two of us are going to go commandeer transport, the rest are going to stay here.  We'll use the vehicle as distraction, assault platform, and mobile cover to escape from the killbox."

Fyrenn turned to Carradan, and offered him a small smirk, "Hutch told me about what happened the last time you got behind the wheel.  No offense, but I'm looking for someone who can reach the pedals unassisted."

Stan chortled quietly, and shook his head, his tone conveying nothing but amused relief.

"Hey, no offense taken feathers.  When it comes to making suicidal bum-rushes in a jeep? Better *anyone* than me.  I've had enough vehicular manslaughter for one lifetime, thank-you-very-much."

The red Gryphon shifted his gaze a meter to the left, fixing his eyes firmly on Neyla's.

"I need you for this to work.  You're the only other one here with any actual vehicular qualifications to speak of.  Whatever... Issues there are between us, right now, I need them to be non-issues until we're out of this safely."

The silence would have been painfully acute, were it not for the background din of continued firefights raging around the city.  Neyla returned Fyrenn's gaze with unwavering resolve, and an icy edge bordering on the murderous.

"Fine.  But that means you owe me a real discussion about those issues.  Soon."

Fyrenn winced and nodded slowly, "Deal."

Neyla mimicked the gesture, but with a great deal more firmness.

"Good.  And mind you;  No backseat driving."





GMT: 14:33:06
Ragnar: +01:33:06

The rods completed their first orbit of the Earth in the absolute silence of hard vacuum.  As the pair of train-sized objects swung around to the day side of the planet once more, the sun produced a dull, menacing glint on the unburnished carbon scored tungsten.

The weapons were destined to complete two more orbits before their trajectory brought them suborbital, but since their speed had increased by multiple orders of magnitude thanks to gravity, and would continue increasing still, each consecutive orbit would be much swifter.

By the time they were ready to enter the atmosphere, not even the dense air of the lower Troposphere would be able to arrest their momentum in any measurable sense.

It would simply convert to pure plasma.





GMT: 14:36:23
EST: 10:36:23
Ragnar: +01:36:23

"You're too old for this, and you know it!"

Klarien smirked as he took an aggressive nip at Taranis' right flank.  The maneuver succeeded in placing a fairly deep gash in the scales of his rear leg.

The cobalt Dragon grunted, and staggered back a pace.  The sound in his gut continued.  At first, judging the sound to be borne of pain, Klarien decided he had the initiative.  His grin widened, and he began to circle slowly, chuckling as he spread his wings.

"You thought becoming this...  Abomination would give you a second chance?  Your age betrays you as surely as if you were hobbling to and fro on a crutch."

Taranis kept his head low.  The sound which had, at first, seemed like a pained groan, began to magnify in volume steadily.  Klarien realized, with a start, that it was actually a throaty chuckle.

"You think you have this all figured out.  Don't you?"  Taranis raised his head, bringing Klarien up short.  The younger Dragon's snout turned down in a sneer.

"There's nothing to figure out old man.  Humanity wins.  The Equestrian filth, and all you ilk who support them, lose."

Taranis grinned.  The expression was so sure, so confident, that it brought Klarien to stop.

"You know I'm old.  But do you have any idea how much of that time I spent as a soldier?"

Taranis began to circle, forcing Klarien to continue the slow and deadly dance at the older Dragon's pace.

"I spent a good twenty years of my life as a marine.  Where did *you* train whelp?  Behind a barn in Montana?  Who trained you?  A dumb hick who thought a shotgun, an anti-Equestrian shirt with a matching red baseball cap, and a beer bottle made him invincible?  I was snapping real men's necks, trained armed adversaries, by the dozen while you were still in primary school."

Taranis loosed an immense blast from his jaws without warning, nor prelude.  As the millions of volts coursed mercilessly through the Green Dragon's body, Taranis lunged across the intervening space, once again putting his weight and powerful rear legs to work.

The collision carried the pair up and out, embedding them momentarily in the concrete outer wall of the fort.  Klarien desperately tried to claw his way free, finally succeeding in burying part of his right claw in the joint of Taranis' left wing.

The moment Klarien pulled his right forelimb free, Taranis clamped his jaws down on the claw, ripping two of the digits entirely off as he allowed gravity to pull his body free of the grim embrace.

Klarien let loose the Draconic equivalent of a pained, enraged scream.  Glass rained down from above as several window panes shattered under the sonic stress.

Taranis limped backwards across the courtyard, swiftly taking stock of his bloody wing.  The injury was painful, even severe.  But not necessarily permanent.  Unfortunately, he soon realized it would probably prevent him from exerting much, if any force through the limb.

He glanced at the green heap Klarien had collapsed into, and shook his head slowly.  As the younger Dragon staggered back to a standing position, Taranis once again decided to take advantage of his opponent's lack of control.

"The difference between you and me isn't so much about age young one, as discipline.  You think you are powerful to serve your cause?  I will make you watch as your cause collapses around your ears."

Klarien hissed, expelling a large plume of poisonous gas reflexively.  Taranis chuckled as he continued. 

"Your worst mistake was making me almost come to like you.  Neither the Human part of me, nor the ancient lizard, much like betrayal.  So I promise you..."

The cobalt Dragon lunged forward once more, pausing only to deliver a soft whisper into Klarien's ear as they connected, "I'll make sure that this is *exquisitely* painful."





GMT: 14:36:30
PDT: 07:36:30
Ragnar: +01:36:030

"Uhoh."

Kephic barely had time to finish the word as he raised his rifle, and pulled the trigger.  The lone shot flew straight and true, puncturing the weakest part of the enemy's helmet and dropping him where he stood.

The speckled Gryphon shrugged, as Varan and the remainder of the group looked on in confusion and horror.

"Judging by what he was holding, and his expression? He pegged us on thermal.  Everyone dig in.  They sure know we're here now."

Skye rolled her eyes, "One time.  Just *one* time, I'd like everything to go exactly as planned---"

The remainder of her rant was snatched away by the din of incoming fire.  The Unicorn dove for concealment behind the lobby's reception desk, rolling into position to find Carradan waiting there for her with a wry grin.

"Hey there.  Long time no see.  How have ya been?"

She grit her teeth and sighed, "Definitely not the time for levity."

Kephic and Varan began to lay down fire as aggressively as they could backing towards cover in the process.  The Princess, for her part, swiftly re-conjured her micro shields and began a swift backwards walk to relative safety.

Varan raised his voice as he indiscriminately disgorged canisters from his grenade launcher, "We ca not hold here for long."

Kephic snorted, "No *really?!*  I hadn't noticed!  I certainly hope they aren't dawdling down there..."

Celestia winced as a small piece of concrete shrapnel bypassed her shields and nicked her cheek.

"Should we not consider falling back?"  Her tone remained surprisingly even.

Kephic shook his head, "Not unless we're forced to.  We can't let Fyrenn and Neyla charge out into the open without support like that."

Varan nodded, "We must give them at least two minutes."

Skye peeked up over the edge of the reception desk, and paused long enough to fire off a bolt of neuro-disruptive magic in the general direction of the nearest soldier.

"I sure hope we *have* two minutes..."





GMT: 14:37:02
CDT: 09:37:02
Ragnar: +01:37:02

"Sir?  That makes the second visual confirmation.  White Queen is still within the specified perimeter."

The technician clutched both hands behind his back nervously as he delivered the report.

Mr. Stalin leaned in closer over the holotank, and nodded slowly.  He absently stroked at his chin with one hand as he collected his thoughts.  The room thrummed with the dull roar of men and women furtively speaking to each other, and into headsets.  Telemetry raced across the wall screens at breakneck pace.

"Close the net.  We can't afford to leave anything to chance.  Thor is already inbound.  Call off all other mobile units from their tasks, and throw everything at that building."

The technician nodded, and held his headset tight against both ears, "Central:  New directive for all fire team controllers.  Disengage current tasking and re-route units to rally points echo three, five, and eight.  New tasking;  Search and contain enemy forces.  Engage to destroy."





GMT: 14:37:08
PDT: 07:37:08
Ragnar: +01:37:08

Fyrenn had never put so much effort into stealth before in his life.  Twice he had been sure one of the Augments had spotted a stray feather, or caught wind of the most infinitesimal sounds his claws made against the carpeting of the upper corridors.

Fortunately for the two Gryphons, they had gone completely undetected.  The pair had taken to an all out sprint once they reached the utility access corridor.

Fyrenn pulled up sharply as he reached the entrance door to the vehicle bay.  Neyla skidded to a stop a half second later, glaring.

The red Gryphon smirked, "Need a moment?"

Neyla's glare metamorphosed into a furious glower, "Not fair.  You've been spending more time with Brelik in the ring."

Fyrenn shrugged, "When I can find the time, sure.  I think you just resent the fact that I have slightly better leg muscles."

The blue and tan Gryphoness snorted derisively, her ears pinned back reflexively as she responded.

"What is your Human phrase for moments like this... 'As if.' "

Fyrenn rolled his eyes, and brought his RAC up to ready position, taking a firm stand on his hind legs.

Neyla did the same, and moved to the right side of the door.

Without further prelude, Fyrenn slammed one back leg into the portal, unhinging the flimsy tin sheet and sending it rocketing into the space beyond.  The two gryphons pivoted through the entryway, one after the other, in close proximity.  Their precautionary measures were unnecessary.

The vast concrete space was completely devoid of life.  Fyrenn nodded, a strong note of relief creeping into his voice as he surveyed the chamber.

"Good.  They haven't gotten around to torching the place yet.  Probably means they're busy executing half the dignitaries upstairs."

Neyla shook her head, "Aren't you just a ray of optimism."

"That's your department.  I deal in harsh realities."

Neyla snorted.

"Cynic."

Fyrenn nodded, "And proud of it."

The Gryphoness sighed as she examined the space before them.  The room was laid out as a low slung polygonal cross-section.  The walls sloped outwards from the floor, to the ceiling.  Dull blue-gray lighting glinted off the fenders of vehicles, tucked into row upon row of recessed bays.

Neyla began to shake her head slowly once more, speaking with a mixture of concern and resignation.

"These are almost all fast transports, open jeeps, and utility trucks.  None of them are going to withstand more than thirty or forty rounds of railgun bombardment.  Let alone a rocket propelled munition."

Fyrenn slowly swept his eyes up and down the stored vehicles, before fixating on one bay in particular.  He took a halting step, paused, and gestured towards the front end of an armored cowl peeking out around a support column.

"How about that?"

Neyla raised an eyebrow, her flat incredulous tone matching her expression perfectly. 

"You're kidding." 

She glanced at the front end of the vehicle, then back at the red Gryphon.  Her face rapidly went from sarcastic amusement to concerned cynicism.  Her ears flattened, her eyes hardened, and the edge of her beak turned down.

"You're not kidding."

Fyrenn shrugged, "It's armored enough."

"Yes...  And it's also probably too slow."  

The blue and tan Gryphoness began shaking her head slowly.

Fyrenn chuckled, "Built for urban pacification and CQB armored spec-ops.  That thing will do one hundred and ten KPH over level ground.  Better still, it will have room for everyone in the back.  Tight squeeze notwithstanding." 

He mimicked Neyla's earlier gesture, raising an eyebrow.  She took a halting step towards the vehicle, but stopped short. 

"We'd still have to get it out of the garage.  I don't think---"

Fyrenn cut her off with a wave of one claw, "Oh come on,"  He strode over to the recessed bay, and clambered over the top of the dull gray monstrosity in question, "Six pedals, four directions.  How hard can it possibly be?"

Neyla snorted, "Knowing the way Humans build control systems?  Hard enough."

The red Gryphon smirked triumphantly, "Are you saying you can't drive?"

"Oh shut your beak.  I've probably got more hours of current vehicle qualifications than you, and you know it."  

She paused, and rapped one fisted claw against the front glacis plate, "Can you even operate the fire control system on one of these?"

Fyrenn's smile changed slowly from an amused leer, to a predatory grimace, "I cross-trained for two years on the Indianapolis in Naval surface warfare.  With a focus on ranged surface-artillery fire control."

Neyla raised an eyebrow once more, and cocked her head, "How much potential crossover does that have with these systems?"

Fyrenn's smile widened, as he stared down at the vehicle's main weapon.  

The tone of his voice was terrifyingly deadpan. 

"More than enough."





"Is it just me, or are there more of them all of the sudden?!"

Even as the words left his muzzle, Carradan was forced to pull his head back down.  A withering hail of RAC rounds filled the air above his head with a sound akin to angry hornets.

Kephic growled, and emptied the last rounds in his fifth clip with lethal precision.

"There are definitely more of them."

Varan dove across the intervening space between two cover points, loosing three grenades in the process.

"It seems we have attracted attention.  Of the worst kind.  We should fall back."

Celestia's eyes widened as she was forced to fall back once more by concentrated sniper fire.  The rounds that missed cut a series of furrows into the walls and floor at the opposite end of the room.

"You have an astonishing gift for understatement!"  

The Alicorn's tone was mostly given over to incredulity, but Kephic thought he detected a more disturbing undercurrent of fear.  He hissed, and dodged to the left, ejecting the spent clip from his weapon and substituting a fresh one, all in the same smooth motion.

He selected his new targets, and began discharging rounds with abandon, shouting to make himself heard over his own weapon.

"In about another ten seconds, we won't be able to fall back.  It isn't going to matter much anyways.  They clearly know what we're planning!"

Without warning, an augment dropped from above, directly in front of Kephic, weapon at the ready.  Instinctively, the speckled Gryphon ducked, and held in the trigger to his rifle, narrowly avoiding the enemy's first three rounds as they passed within millimeters of his head.

A fraction of a second later, the augment, the floor around him, and a large chunk of the entryway itself, exploded.  The conflagration was vastly disproportionate to even the maximum potential damage Kephic's shots were capable of inflicting.

He squinted against the heat, and shrapnel, raising one wing to put an armored plate between himself and the majority of the debris.

The first detonation was followed by a staccato series of reports.  Similarly spectacular accompanying detonations blossomed across the front lawn of the complex as each shot found its mark in a group of soldiers.

Bodies, pieces of bodies, synthetic turf, giblets of armor, and duracrete flew in all directions.  Miniature fireballs and plumes of black smoke accompanied each new crater.  As Kephic finally regained a stable stance, and dropped his protective wing, he allowed himself a moment of bewilderment as to the source of their good fortune. 

The origin of the chaos manifested itself a moment later, as if on command.

With the dull roar of a hydrogen fuel cell engine at maximum throttle, and the rumbling clatter of collapsed masonry, the vehicle plowed through a low slung road barrier, caught several inches of air, and slammed onto the terrace.

Razor-thin at the front and rear thanks to its angled armor, the main body was made of pure titanium, slathered in dark gray urban digital camouflage paint.  Suspended on four articulating tread bogeys, the central hull's harsh lines were broken only by the even more menacing triangular plates of the main turret.

Twin sprays of green spewed forth from the rear of the treads as the tank sought, and acquired, traction on the new driving surface.

The remaining soldiers tried desperately to hit the figure huddled in the driver's hatch with suppressing fire, but their efforts were too little and came far too late.

The tank sprang forward as the tracks at last dug in completely, ramming head on into the group of soldiers.  The fifty mile an hour impact sent some of the bodies flying as far as ten yards.  The vehicle braked sharply, coming to a stop in a protective position between the building's main doors, and the outside.

Two of the troopers survived the onslaught, their armor having absorbed the kinetic energy at just the right angle.  As they began to shake off the effects of the collision, the tank's turret rotated swiftly to face them.

Without pause, mercy, or request for surrender, the twin barrels of the vehicle's main gun spoke out in quick succession.

The pair of troopers barely had time to claw their way back to a kneeling position, before they went up in a sudden and cacophonous fireball.

Celestia stared in open-mouthed and unabashed shock.  Kephic and Varan took a series of slow steps towards the tank, while Stan and Skye slowly rose from cover, and did their best to comprehend the sudden change in situation.

From his position in the gunner's nest at the top of the turret, Fyrenn smirked down at Neyla.

"You're parked in a fire lane."

The Gryphoness raised her head up from behind the protective blast window of the driver's hatch, and glowered.

"If you start with this, I will clip off your head with the lowest hanging---"

Kephic interrupted, raising a claw and tilting his head to the side.

"Excuse me, but I thought you said you were going to acquire *transport.*  This is not transport.  It's a frigate on tracks."

Neyla flicked a switch on her control panel, and shifted her skewering glare to the speckled Gryphon.  With a low whirr of servo motors, the tank's rear hatch irised open to reveal the inner hull compartment.  Kephic shook his head slowly, mumbling as he did so.

"You two should not be allowed to go out without a chaperone."

Varan raised an eyebrow, "I have doubts that we will all fit into that space."

Fyrenn nodded, "That's why you and Kephic will fly close air support.  Without having to worry so much about them," he jerked a thumb talon at Celestia and the Ponies, "You'll be a lot more flexible."

Stan trotted over to the rear hatch, and peeked around the edge of the entryway frame.  He grimaced.

"Cozy.  Real cozy."

Neyla sighed, "You feel free to walk, or fly.  See how far you get."

Fyrenn chuckled, "Cozy is the price you pay for six hundred millimeters of titanium dipped energy diffusing nano-ceramic armor plating.  I'm guessing you prefer cozy to becoming roadkill?"

Carradan gulped, and nodded, "Cozy is good!"  He scrambled into the back of the tank, and took up a position in one corner of the chamber.  Skye followed suit, suppressing a small giggle.

She glanced up at Fyrenn as she ducked inside, "You never do anything subtle do you?"

"There is an old military proverb..." 

The red Gryphon grinned widely, and cycled the main gun's capacitor.

"Over-kill is under-rated."
> Chapter 28
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:38:15
EST: 10:38:15
Ragnar: +01:38:15

Taranis noticed the first symptom of the problem as a slight delay in his reaction times.  At first, he chalked it up to minor side effects of blood loss and deep tissue trauma.

Then his vision began to swim.

He winced as a blow from Klarien's right shoulder sent him spinning into, then through, a section of wall.  The force of the impact jarred the older Dragon's mind, and he ruefully put the pieces of the puzzle together.

The pair had been fighting within the confines of the Fort's central structure for the last two minutes.  Taranis realized that he had been breathing in the residue from Klarien's initial attack on the building, as well as any further fumes that had been released over the course of the duel.

Some creatures, like Pegasi and Gryphons, could have briefly pushed past the gas directly thanks to their unique poison resistant lungs and enormous capacity for holding a breath.  Others, like Earth Ponies or Humans, would have dropped within seconds without a rebreather.  Klarien was completely immune as a result of his specific biology.

Taranis himself was also immune to any permanent effects of the chemical, let alone its normally fatal properties, thanks to his bulk and the power of his internal biological defenses. 

But enough of the noxious green particles had built up in his system to put a definite strain on his sensing faculties.

The danger had simply gone unnoticed at first, because the dosage required to make a Dragon groggy was equitable to the dosage needed to kill a thousand Humans, a thousand times over.

Taranis tensed as another flurry of blows descended.  He knew he could withstand the assault, at least temporarily.  His desire to flush the toxins from his body far outweighed any petty desire to strike back, and thereby waste valuable seconds.

Instead, the cobalt Dragon put all his weight, and muscle, into a diagonal charge.  He whipped past Klarien, and cannoned directly into a bank of windows, bursting forth into the morning air with a ground-shaking roar.

As he beat a slow, ominous tattoo with his wings, he inhaled deeply through his nostrils, exhaling through the gaping maw of his snout.

As his body rose into the space between the nearest skyscrapers, his head began to clear with an exhilarating rush.  Manhattan air was not exactly fresh.  It smelt strongly of warm duracrete, cleaning solvents, lubricants, and coolant.  But it was more or less clean.

The reprieve was short lived.

Klarien's lesser stature gave him one distinct combat advantage by way of agility.  With a triumphant snarl, he came billowing up from the ruined roof of the compound, beating his wings swiftly to take maximum advantage of his lower tonnage.

Taranis extended his front claws in preparation for a collision, but the green Dragon rolled to the side at the last moment, pivoting up and over his opponent in a graceful arc.

Klarien took full advantage of his momentary gains.  Before Taranis could muster a defense, the younger Dragon latched onto the space between his wings firmly, and bit down hard on the base of his neck.

The pain momentarily blinded Taranis.  It felt as if every single nerve ending in his head had been set on fire.  The scale plating protecting his brain stem began to squeal in protest under the immense pressure.

And yet, in spite of the pain, in spite of the overwhelming din of his instincts, Taranis still retained one advantage.  Years of military experience.  Men and women had once lived and died by his ability to make split second choices in the clutch.

For all the changes Conversion had brought, it had done nothing whatsoever to damp the long term impact of those trials by fire, and sand, and water, and blood.

The plan, like most good strategies, was elegant in its simplicity.  Raw physics at work.

Taranis twisted his head around as far as he dared, and offered Klarien a smug, toothy grin.  In the precious moments the green reptile wasted trying to comprehend the expression, Taranis made his move.

The elder Dragon simply folded his wings shut with a snap.

Gravity took hold swiftly, and mercilessly.  At first, Klarien was so baffled by the sudden change in the situation, that he loosened his grip slightly.  That was all Taranis needed.

With a throaty chuckle, the cobalt Dragon threw his entire weight to the left.  The world spun gradually one hundred and eighty degrees as the wind whipped past his ears, and floor after floor of the surrounding buildings hurtled past.

By the time Klarien realized what Taranis intended, it was far too late to do anything about it.  His claws were still deeply embedded in his enemy's shoulders, locking him inextricably in place.  Though he beat his wings frantically, they could do absolutely nothing to counteract the colossal momentum the pair had accrued.

For all intents and purposes, it would have been easier to arrest a battleship with a taught string.

The pair arrived at ground level with an impact more or less equivalent to a two thousand pound kinetic bomb.  The sound was deafening for anyone within five blocks of Fort Hamilton.  A low echoing rumble could be heard as far away as the other side of Manhattan.

Anyone, and anything, standing within eighty feet of the center of the courtyard was instantly shredded to matchsticks.

Duracrete dust, chunks of metal supports, artificial turf, glass shards, broken green scales, and paint flecks mushroomed outwards in a massive bloom of debris and smoke.

Klarien's body absorbed the majority of the energy, ablating nearly three millimeters of his scales in several places, and severely bruising most of the muscles in his back and wings.  Only the raw tensile strength of Draconic bone and scale saved him from a lethal break in his spine.

Several pieces of debris dug their way between the protective façade of his scale plates, and into the first few inches of the tough hide underneath.  Here and there, trickles of emerald blood flowed freely.

Taranis did not escape unscathed either.  Klarien's claws compacted deeply into his inner layers of skin, severing two tendons and nicking a major blood vessel.  Mercifully, however, the secondary shocks jarred his opponent loose at last.

Taranis tucked his wings for protection, and allowed himself to roll, bleeding off the remainder of his excess momentum with a no-holds-barred tumble across the parade ground.  The out of control spin finally ended via an abrupt encounter with the Fort's main vehicle entry doors.

The meeting produced a melodic clang, and a Dragon-shaped indentation in the titanium plates.

At long last, there was relative stillness.

The sounds of distant approaching sirens, panicked screams, and morning traffic, began to filter in over the wall of the compound.  For several seconds, nothing moved save for settling dust and debris.

Taranis was the first to regain motor control.  Klarien's first clue to this effect was the enormous, ominous shadow that fell across his vision, as he squinted up through the pain and shock.

He barely had time to comprehend the enormous metal structural brace that Taranis had firmly grasped in both claws, before the steel beam abruptly became a permanent part of his chest cavity.

The shock of the puncture was so violent, that at first Klarien couldn't even scream.  He just stared dumbly at the fifteen meter piece of metal which had passed all the way through his chest, out one shoulder, and into his left wing.

The indescribable pain to his internals, the sheer horror of the sight itself, and the incalculable strength Taranis had just exhibited, refused to process in any meaningful way.

Finally, his nerve endings and his brain tuned to the same wavelength, and a piercing roar of agony escaped his muzzle.

As the protracted sound crescendoed, Taranis leaned in close.  Heightened by the effects of shock, adrenaline, and torturous pain, Klarien's senses picked up on every tiny fraction of the encounter.  The tone of Taranis' voice, the dust and nicks in his scales, and the hot, sickeningly electrified waft of his breath, all hit home with a unique, and stunning clarity.

"I warned you how this would go."  

As he spoke, Taranis threw his weight onto the metal beam, driving it into the ground several feet, pinning Klarien like a bug in a display case.

"I'm a soldier.  We live, love, and die, by honor.  When I became this?  None of that went away."

The cobalt Dragon shook his head slowly, "You and your band of willful fools miss the point.  You intentionally blind yourselves because you can't face facts.  We've been given a chance;  A chance for the best parts of what we are to live to live on in a way that betters everyone.  We couldn't go on as we were forever.  Neither side could."

Klarien spat, his saliva mixed with viscous blobs of blood, and powdery chunks of his toxin.

"Humanus pro vita!"

Taranis stepped back, and nodded slowly.  His jaws opened wide.

The bolt began as a series of small electrical arcs, snapping back and forth between his teeth.  Slowly, the energy grew into a voluminous cascade. Million volt strands of energy raced back and forth inside his muzzle.

After a moment, arcs began to fly off the nearest severed electrical lines, and damaged junction boxes.  The bolts raced to the edges of Taranis' wings, across his back, over his eyes, and down into his mouth, joining the rapidly expanding cascade of blindingly bright electrical death waiting there.

The energy expanded across his entire body, sizzling back and forth across the gaps in his scales, and through the membranes in his wings.  His entire body glowed a bright blue-white, brighter than the light of the occluded sun.

Finally, the mammoth quantity of electricity could no longer be contained.

The discharge came as a single, massive, spear-like bolt.  The crack of its passing shattered every window within twenty blocks.  The backwash shut down the power grid for all of lower Manhattan, as dozens of safety cut-off fuses simply immolated in their casings.

The entire sum total of the energy Taranis could muster from within his own Thaumatic tap, combined with every single volt present in the surrounding electrical grid at the time, flowed into the metal brace, and by extension, through Klarien.

The traitor tried to scream once more, but the muscles of his throat simply would not co-operate.  He could only writhe silently, as the star-like energies bonded every atom of his tissue to every other atom through impromptu fusion, literally baking his body into a single scored structure.

The green of his scales withered away to a desiccated sickly brown as the last of the electricity finally made its way back to ground, at the expense of every single cell in Klarien's body.

As the final stray arcs fizzled away, all that remained were patches of flaking, half-vaporized brown scales, hanging off of blackened, fused bones.

Taranis snorted.

"Vescere bracis meis."





GMT: 14:39:32
PDT: 07:39:32
Ragnar: +01:39:32

Fyrenn winced, and braced himself against the ring of his hatch as the tank jolted severely.  There was a loud 'CRUNCH,' and the remains of an abandoned car fell away to the rear as the treads regained traction on flat pavement.

"Watch it!  The last thing we need is a jammed track!"

Neyla growled as she slammed one back paw into the right side accelerator pedal, and the other into the clutch.

"You do your job, I'll do mine!"

Further disputation was precluded by a series of dull pings, and slightly higher pitched zinging noises.  Fyrenn hunched down to protect his head from the spray of rounds as best he could, wincing as one pierced a weak spot in the blast plate, and nicked his left ear.

He peered cautiously over the edge of the hatch.  In the street ahead, a pair of large APCs had pulled out of a side alley, and taken up a roadblock position.  Their twin upper guns were busy peppering the front of the tank, as dozens of troops disgorged from the rear bays, and took up cover positions behind the vehicles.

Fyrenn slammed one claw down on the rotation control for the turret, using the other to brace himself against the inside of the chamber.  The space had not been able to accommodate him initially, so he had been forced to rip out the seat, harness, safety cage, and all forms of extra padding.

He groaned in dismay as he heard a series of rounds puncture the weaker lower glacis of the tank.

"Angle the armor!"

Neyla pressed her head further down into her compartment, and rammed down harder on both accelerators, shifting gears with a harsh grinding sound.

"What is that supposed to MEAN!?"

Fyrenn prematurely pulled back on the trigger mechanism in frustration, missing the first vehicle, and just barely clipping the front of the second.  The aftershock of the impact scattered several of the troops, but did little to deter the fire support from the remainder.

"It means ANGLE the TANK!!! Forty five degrees, relative to THEM!!"

Neyla lessened her pressure on the left accelerator, slowing the treads and allowing the tank to push into an angle.

"Why exactly are we doing this?!"

Fyrenn hissed, and shouted as he worked.

"Because I SAID so!  I don't have time to explain the finer points of ARMOR PHYSICS to you! Now hold STILL so I can get SHOTS!"

Neyla glowered, and slammed both back paws down on the brake pedal, nearly sending Fyrenn's beak through the front of his control console.  More enemy rounds slammed into the front of the tank.

Unlike the previous volleys, however, the vast majority of the second wave turned into pointless ricochets, as the forty five degree angle greatly increased the effective thickness of the frontal armor.

"HAVE YOU NEVER HEARD---"  Fyrenn paused, and pulled back on the trigger once more.  Four rounds flew from the front of the main gun in half as many seconds, shredding the first vehicle and igniting its fuel supply into a spectacular fireball.

"--OF CLUTCH--" Fyrenn paused to cycle the weapon's capacitors, then took aim carefully at the second vehicle, dispatching four more shots directly into the most vulnerable part of its cupola.

"--BRAKING?!"

As if to lend emphasis to his anger, Fyrenn pulled back on the trigger again, and again, mercilessly levelling what was left of the burned out vehicles, and sending the corpses of the remaining soldiers flying in all directions.

Neyla hissed, and threw the tank back into gear.  She finally managed to work out the clutch timings, and the vehicle reached full speed swiftly, slamming into the scrapped remains of the two APCs and bursting through onto the street beyond.

"If you don't like my driving---?!"  She abruptly released the right accelerator, slammed down on the corresponding brake, and shifted down three gears in quick succession as the tank skidded around a corner, slamming abruptly into the side of another APC.

"---THEN SHUT UP AND GET OUT!"

Fyrenn nodded as he delivered his response in the same tone, with the same volume. 

"FINE!"

Without warning, the red Gryphon pushed off from his hatch with both wings, and both back legs, pivoting into a startling backflip.

He landed hard on the rear of the third APC, digging in with all his claws for purchase as the vehicle shot down the street, still locked side by side with the tank, and producing a shower of sparks from the friction.

"Is this---" 

Fyrenn's question was truncated by the need to dodge a rifle round.  A soldier poked his head out of the commander's hatch, following up on his first shot with a panicked spray.

Fyrenn rolled to the side, releasing the roof momentarily to allow the laws of physics to move him across the intervening space swiftly and silently.  He snatched the soldier by the shoulders, ripped him from the hatch, and threw him downwards towards the front wheels of his own vehicle.

The Gryphon paused only long enough to snatch a grenade from the man's belt, before he allowed him to fall to a very flat, and grisly death.

He pulled the pin nonchalantly from the weapon, casually allowing it to roll off his left claw, and fall perfectly into the open hatch.  With only a short pause to ensure the grenade was fully inside, Fyrenn pushed off from the top of the APC, letting the force of his exit to slam the hatch shut behind him.

He completed the flip by landing on the front of the tank's upper glacis, just ahead of Neyla's hatch.

"Is this about---"

He winced, and raised the armored joint plate of his right wing as the APC exploded, once more cutting short his sentence.  He inhaled slowly, and shook his head.

"Is this about the angling thing?  Because there really was no time to explain..."

Neyla glared, her eyes filled with more fire than Fyrenn had ever seen there before.  Her ears pinned back, and her brow narrowed dangerously.

"Its ABOUT the fact that you NEVER share your thought process..."  

She paused to work the clutch, bringing the tank up to its maximum rated speed, and eliciting a mechanical scream from the engine compartment.

"...And you seem to think the ONLY way to deal with something you fear, is to BURN IT TO THE GROUND!"

Fyrenn's eyes widened, and he dug in as the tank slammed nose-first into the front end of a fourth APC.  The impact sent both vehicles into a spin.  Neyla feverishly worked the accelerator and braking pedals, trying to ensure the tank exited the maneuver in an ideal position.

Fyrenn exhaled sharply, "I get the sense we're not exactly having the same conversation."

Neyla raised one eyebrow sharply.

"YOU THINK!?"

Fyrenn nodded pensively, "Hold that thought for a sec please."

He darted up the front glacis of the tank, and vaulted forwards, just barely managing to take shelter in the turret nest before the first spray of enemy rounds peppered the front of the vehicle.

The red Gryphon yanked back on the turret rotation lever, and spun the construct around to face the enemy vehicle.

"SMILE, LOOK HERE..."  

He flicked up the trigger cover, and peeked out over the top of the turret, sighting manually.

"AND WAIT FOR THE FLASH!"

The first rounds did less damage than expected.  The APC had managed to exit its spin in a fairly good position as well, and the sharp angle of its frontal armor absorbed a fairly large part of the first shells' energy.

The follow-on volley, however, was more precisely targeted.  It ripped directly through the front windscreen, and immolated the vehicle's interior, sending spall shards in all directions.

Fyrenn shook himself, and glanced down the access hatch into the interior of the rear compartment.

"Everyone OK back there?"

Skye's voice filtered up as a pained whisper.

"I think I bruised a rib."

Carradan chuckled nervously.

" 'OK' covers concussions right?"

Celestia's voice came more loudly, and with a slightly harsh undertone.

"Is this always how your kind works out romantic issues?"

Fyrenn nodded.

"YES!"

Neyla threw the tank back into gear.

"NO!"

The replies came at exactly the same time, with precisely the same furious timbre.

Celestia grunted in discomfort as the vehicle began to move again, "Do you think you could wait until later to settle this?"

Fyrenn nodded again, carefully cycling the capacitor and checking the ammunition count.

"Yes!"

Neyla let off the clutch, and pushed hard on both accelerators.

"No!"

Carradan rolled his eyes, and bit down hard on the five point harness, trying in vain to stabilize his body against the swaying of the chassis.

"Oh great.  Marriage counseling in a Panzer."

Fyrenn snorted, "Actually, its called a---"

Neyla interrupted with a screech of warning, and a sharp turn.  The sound of her voice was accompanied by the squeal of treads on pavement, and the rattle of more enemy rounds on the side of the turret.

"LESS BABBLE!  MORE EFFECTIVE FIRE!"

Fyrenn grunted as he rotated the turret once more, lining up his shot carefully.

"I thought you wanted to talk things out now?!"

Neyla grimaced as a round shattered her windscreen, stopping just short of her beak.

"I stand corrected!"

Fyrenn chuckled harshly as he fired, "There!  Was that so hard to say?!"

The shouting paused momentarily, as Fyrenn's shots struck home in the vehicle's fuel tanks, blowing it into three separate chunks.   The debris flew several dozen feet in the air, before raining back down on the street.

Neyla sighed, and ducked once more as fire came from another direction.

"Look who's talking."

Out of the corner of one eye, Fyrenn caught a dull glint.  Even as he began to rotate the turret, he knew the traverse would not be fast enough.

"RPG! LEFT FLANK!"

He pulled his head down as far as it would go, and braced himself.  The tank shook, coming up and off its left side treads momentarily as the force of the blast lifted it several inches into the air on one side.

Luckily, the warhead struck the most heavily armored part of the engine cowl, denting it severely, but doing little else to compromise the workings of the tank.  Nonetheless, the impact zone was suddenly a very real, very worrisome weak spot.

Before the offending soldier could finish reloading, and before Fyrenn could even fully recover his own faculties, A dark shape swooped down from above and ended his life on the bloody points of eight talons.

Fyrenn lifted his head cautiously over the lip of the turret to behold Kephic and Varan making short work of the remaining fire support teams in the square.

He took advantage of the brief reprieve to orient himself.

The groups helter-skelter adventure had brought them over halfway to the port, but the red Gryphon noted with some concern that they were veering gradually back inland as a result of their evasive maneuvers.

"We have to be more careful about our route.  We've got less than five minutes now, and we can't afford any detours."

Neyla nodded grimly, "It's only borrowed after all."

Fyrenn chuckled, "The saying is 'only a rental.' "

Varan's voice filtered over their headsets as he finished skewering the last soldier on his own bayonet.

"Here is a more apropos proverb.  There is a time and a place for everything."

Kephic chuckled, "Yeah, except maybe for those two in a tank.  The world was not prepared for that."





GMT: 14:40:05
PDT: 07:40:05
Ragnar: +01:40:05

"So...  Do you have a plan?  Or are we just going to do this Custer style?"  

Lieutenant McBride downshifted, and threw the APC into a sharp turn, pushing the suspension precisely to its limits.

"It's very simple.  We approach from behind, where their main weapon will be ineffective.  You will handle the charges, I will handle any resistance."

McBride smiled as he glanced through the upper portion of the windshield, and caught the glint of the sun off Shierel's armor as she zipped by overhead.

"And you'll handle the drinks when we're done."

"Excuse me?"

The Lieutenant chuckled as he pushed into third gear, and completed another hairpin turn.

"Officer in charge always buys the drinks ma'am.  It's tradition."

After a lengthy pause, Shierel's voice once again filtered over the Lieutenant's headset.

"Ah.  Agreed.  On one condition."

"Sure thing."

"My name is Shierel.  Please use it."

Lieutenant McBride smiled as he floored the accelerator.

"Fine.  If we're not standing on ceremony, then call me Bill."

"I am not standing on anything.  That is what my wings are for."

McBride chuckled, "You're gonna have to work on those colloquialisms Shierel."

"And you will need to change lanes shortly."

"Sorry, what?"

The Lieutenant barely had time to finish the thought before he realized he was on track to a head on collision with a fire truck.  He juked the control levels sharply, and slid across the road with only inches to spare.

"How much farther now?"

Shierel banked away behind a small hillock, but her voice continued to issue forth loud and clear.

"Take the next right, then drive about four stadia, take the left fork, then drive one half a spear's throw and you'll be there."

Bill snorted, and stomped on the brake pedal, skidding into the specified right turn.

"Would ya mind giving me that in metric?"

Shierel paused for a long moment.  McBride watched in fascination as her form came back into view, gliding silently above his head, and keeping pace with the APC effortlessly.

"Unless my arithmetic is mistaken;  Six tenths of a kilometer, then two hundred meters after the fork."

There was a moment of lull in the conversation.  The comfortingly familiar sound of the APC's twelve cylinder hydrogen fuel cell engine filled the silence.

McBride squinted as he reached the fork, then tapped the side of his headset.

"Hang on...  You can throw a spear four hundred meters?!"

"No, my best accurate distance is three hundred and sixty five.  The record among my kind is seven hundred and twenty for a heavy javelin.  But four hundred is the accepted average for measurement.  Assuming an average Alarian fighting spear, and not a Sagittar heavy javelin..."

McBride whistled.  

"Geeeeez.  You bird-lion people are scary."

He paused as he came to the fork, braking slightly and shaking his head, "Sorry.  I meant that as a compliment..."

"It was taken as such.  We have arrived."

The lieutenant nodded, and revved the APC's engine menacingly.

"Is this a bad time to mention that I've never used the fire control systems on this thing?"





GMT: 14:40:52
Ragnar: +01:40:52

When the rods first encountered the Thermosphere, there was little to no visible indication of their arrival.  Their trajectories had diverged to the point that they were separated by dozens of kilometers.

Any amateur observers watching the Earth's orbit, let alone large telescopes, would have abruptly seen the first herald of the forthcoming apocalypse at 14:40:53 Greenwich Mean Time.

Precisely on cue the rods' twin miniature liquid hydrogen engines ignited.

Trailing immense streamers of red and gold, the two specters of the grim reaper spiraled Earthward at an astonishing twenty seven thousand times the speed of sound at sea level, accelerating at seven hundred gravitational standard force units.

Oberth effect took over briefly as the injection boosters spent their meager supply of fuel, further increasing both the acceleration and speed of the weapons.

Their motors at last exhausted, the onboard computers programmed a final set of steering instructions into the remaining guidance fins, before ejecting the entire rear casing, and engine housing, for atmospheric annihilation upon re-entry.

The final stage of the Thor flight profile had begun.





GMT: 14:41:03
PDT: 07:41:03
Ragnar: +01:41:03

A series of rounds barely missed the top of Fyrenn's skull as he finished gimballing the turret into optimum position.  As he let loose on the latest HLF vehicle to join the chase, he had to raise his voice to thunderous levels to be heard over the sound of weapons fire.

"WE SEEM TO BE A VERY POPULAR TARGET!"

Kephic's voice filtered over his headset, slightly more subdued in tone.  In the background, Fyrenn could easily make out a series of screams, and the staccato rattle of carbines, as his brother attempted to remove another APC from the equation.

"They know, or suspect, that we have a plan.  That's enough reason for them to be worried."

Fyrenn watched with satisfaction as one of the four vehicles pursuing them erupted in flames, struck a guardrail, and began to flip end over end rapidly.

"EFFECTIVE FIRE INCOMING!  LEFTMOST ENEMY!"

Fyrenn allowed his warning several seconds to sink in, before loosing nearly a sixth of his remaining magazine at the offending APC.  The vehicle drove head-on into the rounds, shredding into a streak of fire, fuel, rubber, and metal on the roadway, as if it had struck a solid wall.

Only two APCs remained to the rear.  Fyrenn contorted his head to read the indicator screen in his compartment.  The readout listed an abysmally low number of remaining rounds, as well as extensive damage to the engine housing, a loose track bearing, and several gaping holes in the frontal lower glacis plate.

Fyrenn glanced up, and perked both ears, as a new sound infringed upon the chaotic din of battle.

He watched, puzzled, as the two remaining APCs stood on their brakes, and skidded to a halt in the middle of the road.  As the tank moved forward onto a small bridge, Fyrenn identified the new sound, and suddenly realized why.

"Oh fantastic.  They brought close-air support."  

He paused and examined the jet as it streaked over the edge of the horizon, growing nearer with each passing second.

"These By'rshn-da really don't give up..."

Neyla sighed as she began a series of serpentine maneuvers between abandoned trucks and cars.

"All that linguistics I taught you, and you use it for name-calling?"

Fyrenn glared down the sights of the turret, and began to rotate the gun onto an upward track.

"Like you said;  I learned from *you.*"

The red Gryphon fired a pair of exploratory shots, but both went wide.  The pilot of the YF-23 was simply too far out for the rounds to close before he could react to the muzzle flash.

"I'm coming up on Winchester with my ammo rack!  I can't afford to waste more ordnance on this little duck hunt."  

Fyrenn glared, as he locked eyes with the pilot of the jet.  Though the man could not see him, Fyrenn could make out every detail of his face.

Varan's voice came filtering back through his headset, "We will not be able to reach him in time to prevent him from launching his first attack."

Neyla pressed harder on the accelerator, shaking her head slowly and squinting to see through her damaged windscreen.

"His first attack will probably be the LAST for us!  If he has any missiles left, there won't be enough of this tank left to fill thimbles!"

Fyrenn growled, and slammed one claw into the side of his hatch in frustration.

"He has three air-to-ground devices left.  I have twenty rounds, and we've got less than ten seconds before he has lock."

To the Gryphons' surprise, a new voice abruptly injected itself into the conversation.

"Open the rear hatch."

Fyrenn glanced down and raised an eyebrow.

"With all due respect Your Highness?  They'll turn you into the world's best pincushion stand-in before you could so much as sneeze."

Celestia's voice remained calm, with a hint of somber resignation.

"Please do as I ask.  I would very much like for all of you, myself, and everyone else in this city, to live to see tomorrow.  Even if it means doing something I am loathe to do."

Neyla shrugged and flicked the appropriate toggle on her console. 

"Well if no one else has any bright ideas..."

Fyrenn peered over the edge of the turret, and watched in fascination as Celestia stepped to the edge of the compartment.  The road whizzed by at seventy kilometers an hour underneath, generating a constant stream of sparks as the edge of the door dragged against the duracrete.

True to Fyrenn's predictions, a series of long-range high-velocity railsnipe rounds came flying directly at the Alicorn's head.  To the Gryphon's surprise, she deflected them with tiny magical shields, as if they were no more annoyance than a small gnat.

Fyrenn was on the verge of asking her what she hoped to accomplish, when the world suddenly, briefly, grew a few million lumens brighter.

With a sound somewhere between the crack of thunder, and the melodic rumble of a church bell, a short, sharp stream of pure yellow-white light shot forth from Celestia's horn.  The bolt crossed the space between the tank, and the Widow Fighter at nearly the speed of light itself, moving at a velocity that was jaw-droppingly fast even by a Gryphon's standards.

The bolt hit the YF-23 square on in its left jet intake, turning the metal of the intake housing, the turbine, and most of the left wing white hot within a millisecond.

Both engines erupted into flames instantaneously thereafter.

As the back of the aircraft swiftly morphed into an expanding tangle of smoke, fire, and twisted aluminum, the jet fell into a shallow dive, combined with a flat spin.

Maintaining much of its original forward momentum, the Widow slammed cockpit-first into the left anchor point of the bridge, slicing through the majority of the cabling and shearing into a dozen burning pieces.

Neyla pressed the accelerator pedals all the way to the floor, and the tank careened off the far end of the bridge, just as the structure began to groan, and cave under its own weight.

Only once the vehicle was completely safe did the Gryphoness bother to close the rear hatch once again.

Fyrenn carefully began rotating the turret back to a forward-firing configuration, shaking his head and inhaling deeply.

He whispered into his mic as quietly as he could.

"We are never.  Ever.  Calling her sun-butt again."
> Chapter 29
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:41:26
EST: 10:41:26
Ragnar: +01:41:26

"General."

At first, the word seemed alien to Hutch, as if spoken from far away, and in some foreign tongue.

"General!"

Hutch groaned and winced.  The more his faculties began to return, the more he wished they had remained dulled, "Five more minutes?"

In response, a blast of warm breath washed over his face.  It reeked strongly of something resembling melted silicon.

The General opened his eyes tentatively and coughed, before slowly voicing his surprise.

"Taranis?  I thought you took leave..."

The cobalt Dragon chuckled grimly.

"As did everyone.  That was the idea, in any case."

Hutch raised an eyebrow, winced, and hissed softly as he tried unsuccessfully to sit up.

"What happened?"

Taranis reached across the room to a bulkhead emergency kit, and ripped the medical supplies forcefully from the cabinet.

As he began to fiddle carefully with the packaging, he let out a small growl.

"I had suspicions.  They were confirmed.  I acted appropriately."

There was a pause, and Hutch picked out the distinctive sound of medication being loaded into a hypodermic injector.

Taranis continued speaking quietly as he pressed the aerosolizer into the side of the General's neck.  The medical instrument released its life-giving payload with a hiss, and a short sharp stabbing pain.

"There is...  Considerable damage to the structure.  And the courtyard will be unusable for some time.  I may have also inadvertently damaged the surrounding electrical infrastructure."

Hutch sighed in relief, as the immensely powerful pain killers began to force his sensory functions back into blissful ignorance.

"What the hell were you doing out there?  I take it Klarien is...?"

Taranis nodded sharply.

"Klarien is a permanent non-issue.  We had an...  Electrifying 'anger management therapy' session.  It did not work out in his favor.  Your clean-up crew will require a crane, a large truck, plasma cutters, and gas masks."

Hutch forced a small smile, as the Dragon began to tentatively apply scabbie foam to his gaping wounds.

"If I didn't know you better, I'd say you actually have a sense of humor under there."

Taranis raised one eyebrow scale.

"Keep your hypothesis on the subject between us.  I have a reputation to defend."

Hutch nodded weakly.  He paused to inhale as deeply as he dared, then gestured over his shoulder towards the central war room.

"They did something to the battle net..."  He paused to cough, a deep and disturbing hacking noise, before continuing, "I'll bet you anything it has something to do with that drive we plugged in that you, and Klarien, recovered."

Taranis' eyes narrowed sharply.

"He was indeed alone with the device for some time.  I would not be surprised if we also discovered that he erased any other traces of useful data from the facility."

Hutch grunted, and winced, staring to his left at the immense gash in the wall, then right to the fizzling and sparking main PAL screen.

"The whole thing was a trick.  And we've got less than four minutes to pull some kinda rabbit out of a hat, or millions of people are going to die."

Taranis grunted, and shook his head slowly.

"Do you think there is any chance we could reboot the battle network successfully?"

Hutch chuckled, though the sound devolved swiftly into a coughing fit.

"Well...  I'm not too good with overly technical problems...  But I think a couple old sots like us can still learn new tricks."

Taranis grinned wryly, "My thoughts exactly."





GMT: 14:41:32
PDT: 07:41:32
Ragnar: +01:41:32

"LEFT SIDE!"

Neyla's warning came too late.

Fyrenn tried to spin the turret to acquire the APC, but the vehicle snuck in under the maximum limits of the tank's gun depression before he could get an angle.

The APC ground against the side of the tank, producing a hail of sparks, and a loud cacophony of bangs and creaks as Neyla forced it into the path of as many obstacles as possible.

Abandoned cars, street lamps, trash bins, barricades, fire hydrants, and miscellaneous debris flew up and out as the APC barreled along.  The driver seemed absolutely intent on maintaining close distance, and Fyrenn didn't blame him.

At point-blank, against the weaker side armor, the tank's larger rounds would virtually atomize the smaller vehicle.

Fyrenn readied himself for another impromptu assault, but found himself swiftly changing to a defensive strategy.

Seemingly from nowhere, a silver-visored helmet appeared over the side of the tank.  Before the red Gryphon could move to knock the offending assailant off, he vaulted into a tight flip, landing perfectly on the front of the turret and opening up on Fyrenn with a spray of rounds.

The Augment was fast, but Fyrenn was equally alacritous.  He vaulted forward, ducking under the stream of rounds, and coming up within striking distance of the soldier, sword drawn.

Neyla shouted over her shoulder, doing her best to keep her eyes on the road ahead.

"WHAT'S TAKING SO LONG?!"

Fyrenn growled, and parried a vicious series of thrusts from the Augment's baronet, ducking and weaving, and flaring his wings for added effect.

"I'M A LITTLE PREOCCUPIED HERE!! SOLVE YOUR *OWN* PROBLEMS!"

The Gryphoness paused, then slammed abruptly on both brake pedals.  The tank's treads went into emergency steering-lock instantly, and the rubber-coated alloy links dug furrows into the duracrete as the vehicle began a titanic battle between inertia and friction.

Fyrenn had to ram his sword into the top of the turret and use it for a claw-hold to avoid being thrown clear.  The Augment simply dropped to all-fours, and latched onto the metal skin of the tank with blades in his wrists and ankles.

The APC driver, hobbled by his lesser reaction times, allowed his vehicle to zip forward, still at full throttle.  Within two seconds, there was an entire tank's length between the two armored vehicles.

Neyla released the brakes, cycled the safety catch on the steering-lock, and rammed down both accelerators in one smooth motion.

The tank still had a great deal of inertia, and the treads caught against the ground virtually instantaneously, causing the vehicle to lurch forward at an astonishing rate of acceleration for something so thickly armored.

The APC driver barely had time to begin a fruitless attempt at a turn, before the tank slammed into the side of his craft.

For several seconds, the tank pushed the APC along like a maglev pushing a stranded car along the tracks.

Then the forward treads found purchase on the edges of the APC's wheels.

In one unbelievably swift, gruesome moment, the APC was sucked under the tank, and crushed like a pancake.  The personnel carrier weighed no more than eighty tons, whereas the tank was closer to one hundred and seventy, and the former craft was further weakened by its larger hollow internal crew compartment.

There was absolutely no contest.  Merely the squeal of distressed metal, and the roar of Neyla down-shifting the tank's engine to compensate for the obstacle.

The APC's fuel tank ruptured and caught fire, leaving shreds of burning material on the tank's treads for several moments, before the friction of their passage dislodged them once and for all.

Fyrenn paid for the victory with his tactical advantage.

The Augment took creative advantage of his position, and the tank's mild secondary deceleration, to launch himself at the red Gryphon.

Fyrenn had to release his sword entirely, and found himself locked claw-to-blade-to-paw-to-hand with his enemy a fraction of a second later.

What the cybernetic soldier lost in his fractionally inferior speed, he made up for in slightly greater strength.

Fyrenn swiftly found himself completely pinned to the top of the turret, unable to use his wings for fear of suffering a serious break, or gash.

He gained a measure of breathing room by swiftly releasing his own hidden blades, scoring a direct hit on the Augment's face plate and knocking him back several inches in the process.  The redistribution of weight allowed Fyrenn to work himself into a better defensive position.

But he knew it would not last.

For several moments, a titanic struggle of wills and wits ensued.  The Augment tried furiously to get at the open portion of Fyrenn's armor along the front uppermost part of his neck.  Fyrenn did his best to simply survive.

At first, the HLF soldier tried a series of swift, agile, complicated strikes.  Fyrenn blocked each with a speed and aptitude born partially of skill, but mostly of adrenaline fueled desperation.

The Augment quickly realized that the slight lag in his senses, as compared to the Gryphon's, made it impossible for him to win through the elegance of a single well timed stroke.

He instead shifted to a duel of pure strength, much to Fyrenn's horror.  Not only did the man's nanofiber muscle augmentations give him a slight edge in raw strength, but his position on the higher ground allowed gravity to be his ally, further extending his edge.

Fyrenn grunted, and threw every ounce of his muscle, and will power, into holding back the enemy's blade.  The monomolecular edge hovered menacingly mere inches away from the Gryphic equivalent of a carotid artery.

Fyrenn hissed, and decided to expend his breath on something potentially worthwhile.

"NEYLA!"

She glanced over her shoulder, and winced.

"What do you want ME to do about it?!  Solve your own problems!"

Fyrenn growled out and out, and glared directly into the Augment's eyes.

"Remember what you said would happen if I criticized your driving again?!  Well you drive LIKE MY GRANDMOTHER!"

For a full second and a half, the Gryphoness stared back over her shoulder in confusion.  Her attention diverted from the road, the tank weaved slightly and struck a parked delivery truck.

The side of the vehicle peeled away like a candy wrapper.

At last, however, Neyla realized what Fyrenn wanted.

She pushed the accelerators in as far as they would go, only letting up on the left side to allow for a wide turn.  In spite of the stunning girth of the maneuver, the tank skidded for several meters, and nearly tipped up on one side.

Thankfully, the architectural feature the Gryphoness was looking for presented itself swiftly.

She held down both pedals, and shouted over her shoulder to ensure Fyrenn was prepared.

"FIVE SECONDS!  MARK!"

Fyrenn counted off the agonizing increments, each second seeming to elongate into a half hour as he allowed time to fall away, and focused his entire being into his forelegs.

At long last, however, the literal shadow of reprieve fell across his head.  He grinned.

"Mind the gap."

The Augment had a deliciously ironic half-second to contemplate the phrase, before he abruptly vanished from Fyrenn's sight with a loud 'CLANG.'  The tip of his right boot brushed against the Gryphon's beak, as he ducked to avoid being swept away, or speared by an ankle blade.

Fyrenn glanced back and chuckled.  A pair of armored legs was visible hanging from the underside of the bridge which had saved his life.  He watched as the Augment dropped to the roadway, and promptly fell onto his side.

The blow had completely destroyed his ability to use his legs.

Fyrenn paused to inhale deeply, then crawled forward to extract his sword from the top of the turret.

He reached into the crew hatch, and thumbed the rotation mechanism.  The Augment glared up at him as the distance between the tank, and the bridge widened.  Both the Gryphon, and the Cyborg, knew what was going to happen next.

When he was sufficiently sure the barrel was properly sighted, Fyrenn waggled one claw in a 'goodbye' wave, and pulled the trigger.

The Augment, the bridge, and most of the roadway underneath exploded in spectacular form.  Pieces of truss and girder rained down for several blocks, likely interspersed with atomized Augment.

Fyrenn leaned over the edge of the turret, and smiled down at Neyla.

"For the record;  My Grandmother was the best...  Well...  Second best driver I've ever seen."

Neyla rolled her eyes and sighed.

"Weren't you just saying something about how we should solve our own problems?"

Fyrenn grinned sheepishly as the breeze toyed with his ears, and blew tufts of fur and feathers into a wild, wind-swept configuration.

"I stand corrected."

Neyla's eyes narrowed, "There.  Was that so hard to say?"

Further opportunity for banter was precluded by a series of tones in both Gryphons' headsets.  As the series of coded bleeps came to an end, Fyrenn noted with relief that Kephic and Varan had rejoined the group.

He raised an eyebrow, "Where the heck were you guys?"

Kephic snorted, "I don't suppose you noticed that you're no longer under threat of covering fire from sniper positions?"

Varan nodded once sharply, and banked into a flanking position three stories above the road, and five yards behind the tank.

"You are welcome."

Fyrenn chuckled, pausing to hold a talon to one ear as a familiar voice filtered through the radio.

"This is General Miles Lantry.  I'm sounding an all-call, with priority transmission space allocated to mainstay fire-teams.  Anyone who's not dead, sound off."

The red Gryphon tapped the reply key on the side of his helmet.

"It's good to hear your voice General.  I take it we have some lines of communication open again?"

Lantry's voice carried a hint of a smile.

"Your friend General Hutchinson had something to do with that, or so I hear.  Hamilton is secure, and partial battle net functionality is back up.  Enough to raise everyone we need at least.  What's your ETA to rally point?"

Fyrenn glanced down at Neyla, and the Gryphoness obliged by tapping the side of her own helmet, and joining the conversation.

"Three minutes, with a margin for error of thirty seconds."

Lantry's wince was audible.

"Cutting it close aren't we?"

Fyrenn sighed as he managed to re-seat himself at last in the gunner's nest.

"We had uninvited guests.  We had to take a detour, dance a little dance, treat them to dinner, and break the bad news to them gently.  You know how these things go."

Lantry grunted, "Well, at any rate, your insane scheme just might pull us all out of the fire this time.  I'm going to send Skye the appropriate data you'll need to point her Highness towards the device, then I'll be busy coordinating everyone else."

There was a pause, before Lantry delivered one final missive.

"Whatever you do, don't be late.  Or we'll all burn for sure."





Late Afternoon
Ragnar: +01:41:32

The first disturbance was so fleeting, that Luna very nearly missed it entirely.  Had she not been probing the aether earnestly, it would have surely gone unnoticed.

At first, the Alicorn couldn't quite comprehend what the ebb and flow of the Thaumatic current was trying to tell her.  The immense displacement seemed to be producing ripples on an impossibly massive scale.

She lifted her head, and looked out across her study, through the open window, resting her thoughtful gaze upon the sparkling vista of Canterlot.

Of one thing Luna was sure;  The cataclysmic attack that she had been warned of was nigh.  The scale of the event had, it seemed, not been exaggerated in the slightest.

The lunar monarch stood, and strode purposefully around her desk, out onto the balcony.  Her office overlooked the castle courtyard, and the majority of the upper quarter below and beyond.

A few guards glanced up and noted her arrival, but otherwise life in the castle, and the city as a whole, seemed to continue undisturbed.

What the Princess did next attracted far more attention.

With her sister off-world, Luna had been given charge of both celestial bodies.  The duty was tiring, but not an overly-difficult stretch.

Luna knew that, come what might, the pending disaster would require of her more power than any task in recent memory.  She allowed her horn to light with a powerful flash.  Slowly at first, then more swiftly as the seconds passed, the sun began to dip towards the horizon at a preternatural speed.

Noon turned to evening in the space of a few breaths, and evening to night half as swiftly again.  The colors of dusk bled through to a pinwheel of stars with such alacrity, that cries of distress and surprise issued forth from all corners of the city.

Luna realized, as the moon pierced the horizon's veil and sailed heavenward, that almost every eye in Canterlot was fixed on her balcony.

As she finished placing the moon at its highest, and brightest point, she relaxed the flow of magic and allowed power to flow into her rather than out.

As Luna began to stockpile her will, and energy, for what was to come, she turned and spoke to the nearest guard.  The normally aloof Stallion was staring up with an unashamed gape, all decorum having fallen by the wayside.

It was the first time Luna had ever seen one of her sister's finest break their trademark pose while on duty.

"Soldier!  Thou must warn all our subjects immediately!  Everypony is to go indoors and seek shelter until the sun returns."

Luna realized with a start that in her concern, she had slipped back into old high speech.

The guard stood gaping for another moment, and Luna raised a hoof, adding a small measure of steel to her tone.

"GO!"

The Stallion's legs fumbled back and forth underneath him for another moment before he finally gained traction, and took off at a breakneck pace.

Alarm bells began to sound moments later, and Luna winced as the sounds of fear and chaos spread throughout the city.  The cry of distressed mothers.  Confused children.  Terrified crowds.

She did her best to shut out all other concerns.  All sounds.  All thoughts.

Luna folded her legs beneath her, and took up a meditative pose; Eyes shut, head downcast.

The time for further action would come soon enough.





GMT: 14:41:32
PDT: 07:41:32
Ragnar: +01:41:32

The first guard had enough time to turn and face the headlamps of the oncoming vehicle, before he was flattened.

Yelling at the top of his lungs, fit to curdle anyone's blood, Lieutenant McBride pressed the throttle to the stops, and skidded into the clearing accompanied by the truncated scream of his first victim, and the roar of the APC's engine at maximum revs.

He slammed on the brakes abruptly, spun the wheel to the side, and pushed out of his seat as the vehicle did a sideways drift under its inertia.  By the time the APC came to a stop, the Lieutenant had repositioned to the gunner's nest.

He released the safety, and promptly turned the vehicle's primary weapon on the next nearest soldier.

The weapon had eight barrels each on two counter-rotating cylinders, and fed itself via an enormously long belt that coiled down and around the accessway, and into a three foot high ammunition box bolted to the floor.

Despite his relatively heavy armor, the first HLF soldier was pulped almost instantly.

The second dove for cover, finally having managed to comprehend what had just befallen his two squadmates.  The action made little difference.

McBride watched in grim fascination as the man's throat vanished in a fine mist.  The report from Shierel's well placed shot echoed across the clearing a moment later.  He pushed the hatch on the turret open just in time to see the Gryphoness land on the front of the vehicle.

"Nice shot."

She glowered.

"Not really.  I was aiming for his head."

McBride chuckled grimly, not quite sure whether to take the statement as pure honest evaluation, or gallows humor.

He winced as the sound of a new assault volley taxed his eardrums.  Smoke poured forth from the side of the brick structure below.

The pair were perched in a clearing just above the construction site.  Ideal ambush terrain.

The Lieutenant rubbed his brow nervously.

"Well.  It looks like we have the drop on them..."

Shierel nodded quietly.  McBride turned to her and raised an eyebrow, "So...  The Plan?"

The Gryphoness shrugged.

"I simply intended to enter, kill everything moving, and leave."

The Lieutenant let out a short, sharp, barking laugh, again betraying his concern.

"If I may?  I've got a better idea."

Shierel smiled slightly, "Oh?"

McBride nodded, "Yeah..."  He paused as the concept became fully formed in his mind.

"A *much* better idea."





At first, the gunner was sure an explosive round had hit the building.  Brick and mortar flew inwards in a torrent, slamming against the outer skin of the L-RAC and leaving fist-sized dents in the relatively thin armor.

The man jumped reflexively as a spiderweb of pixelated cracks appeared in the holographic viewport, realizing momentarily that he was seeing the result of a damaged external sensor.

He gestured to his co-pilot harshly, scowling as he realized their position had been discovered.

"Get on the AP gun!"

The soldier nodded, and twisted his chair around to access the external anti-personnel weapon controls.

He stared out the periscope as the weapon spun up, trying desperately to comprehend what he was seeing.

It was only after the furious visage of a female Gryphon graced his sights, and the screen died with an abrupt fizzle, that he realized what he had been looking at.

The rear of the APC had hit the building with such force that it had breached two layers of brick wall, and a structural beam.  The vehicle had doubtless been going backwards, and downhill, under full acceleration.

The Gryphoness had been inside the vehicle.  The soldier realized, as her paws and claws rapped against the metal of the entry hatch, that she had probably been on top of them before he even had the faculties to react.

He drew his pistol, and aimed it squarely at the entry hatch.  The space was highly constricted.  The man reasoned that there was no possible way the monster could get in without presenting him a target.

The hatch flew open, practically ripped off its hinges by the force of its extraction.  The soldier tensed.

It was only after the grenade rolled to a stop, almost at his very feet, that he realized he had erred in his tactical reasoning.  Grievously.

The thought was his last, as the interior of the vehicle went up in flames and smoke and light and sound.  From within the cockpit of the APC, Lieutenant McBride grinned as he heard the detonation.  He tapped his headset, still smiling as he spoke.

"All done?"

Shierel's voice maintained a firm, even tone.

"No.  I can hear at least two more."

As soon as the sentence left her beak, McBride saw the tan-clad forms enter the clearing through his windscreen.  Agonizingly, he had time to process the fact that one of the soldiers was holding a fully loaded rocket launcher.  He simply had no time to get to the rear of the APC.

McBride was only finished releasing the first of his five harness points when the rocket struck.

The APC had been designed to withstand a great deal, but the majority of its protective armor was dedicated to defending the crew from ambushes to the sides and rear.  The design relied on forward escort tanks to keep it safe.

The Lieutenant had time for one last thought as darkness came for him;  He wished he'd had a chance to thank Shierel.

As he collapsed to the floor of the mangled cabin, blissfully comatose, he had no way to know the extent of his injuries.  No way to know that the vehicle had flipped nearly on its end, so great was the damage.  No way to know that he was beyond lucky to be alive.

No way to know that he would not be for much longer, if he did not receive medical support.

There were no wakeful, living witnesses to what Shierel did to the remaining soldiers.  She preferred it that way.

Gryphons had a special talent for causing unspeakable torment to enemies who pushed them too far.  Shierel had been pushed far, far beyond the limits of her emotions.

The conflict would have been elegant, swift even, were it not for the fact that the Gryphoness was so enraged, that she had reached a state of near-perfect clarity.  To see innocents die had been one thing.  To see the orphaned Colt had been the start of the true rampage.

But to see Lieutenant McBride bleeding, dying on the floor of his own transport;  That had been the worst mistake the HLF had made.  Disarming the men was the easy part.  Toying with them came almost naturally.  

In a way, she found herself feeding emotionally off their torment as she parried, dodged, and counter-attacked slowly. 
Offered them vain hopes, then snatched them away, taking them apart literally limb by limb with each riposte.  In every way she knew they feared.

When her rage was finally spent, she at last dealt the two writhing, screaming husks, now unrecognizable as Human beings, the only mercy she could.

She gave them two RAC rounds.  One apiece.

And at last, on the hill, as the echoes of the second shot faded away, there was silence.
> Chapter 30
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

GMT: 14:44:12
PDT: 07:44:12
Ragnar: +01:44:12

Fyrenn smiled down at the private as the tank ground to a slow, ponderous halt on the pier.

"'Scuse me soldier;  Which way to Berlin?"

The man stared on in absolutely stunned silence, trying in vain to grasp the sight of two Gryphons in a tank, historical reference lost entirely to the absurdity of the moment.  Matters were only compounded when the three Ponies all piled out of the rear of the vehicle.

Carradan's mane had gone wild over the course of the antics.  Skye was bruised in several places.  Celestia looked majestic and regal as ever, but even she had not escaped unscathed.  Several items of her regalia were comically out of order.

As Neyla disembarked, Fyrenn paused to stare out at the chaos of the harbor.

A cargo ship, doubtless hulled by a missile barrage, had capsized at the mouth of the space, and was burning steadily as its reactors melted down.

The Blue Ridge had barely fared better.  It looked almost as if it were ready to keel over.  Only a pair of service tenders seemed to be keeping its list from developing past eight degrees.

Most of the fires on the carrier seemed to have been extinguished, whether by internal crews or the two firefighter tugs behind the ship, Fyrenn wasn't sure.  A steady stream of SWCC boats, civilian skiffs, and the odd yacht were going to and fro, transporting wounded sailors to a makeshift hospital on the pier.

As Fyrenn leapt from the turret, and touched down lightly on all fours, a familiar figure emerged from the roiling crowd of civilians, soldiers, casualties, and nurses.

The red Gryphon hissed sympathetically, "General Sorven.  You look...  Windswept."

She smirked, and shook her head, "Hello Fyrenn.  Making an entrance as always I see.  No this..."  The General gestured to the chaos behind her, "This is not as bad as it looks, and not nearly as bad as it could have been.  They underestimated what Blue Ridge was capable of."

Neyla stepped forward, eyes set firmly on the horizon, "That's all well and good, but none of what you've accomplished today will matter if we don't do what we came here to do."

Sorven raised an eyebrow, "This day just keeps getting better."

Fyrenn sighed, "You have no idea.  We need whatever navigational instruments you can scrounge, especially a GPS and something to measure declinations."

The General nodded, her tone as clipped and businesslike as the gesture.

"Done.  Providing you explain what's about to go down."

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, as Sorven conversed in hushed tones with an underling.

"You may not want to know."

Sorven glanced up.

"That bad?"

Fyrenn nodded sharply.

"Worse."





GMT: 14:44:43
Ragnar: +01:44:43

"Admiral!  We have an incoming priority one communication from Northcom!"

Admiral Laren raised his head from its dozing position against the side of a porthole, and ran one hand through his hair to straighten it.

"About damn time.  What are they saying?"

The Admiral strode swiftly across the bridge to stand beside his communications officer, glancing down at the screen just in time to catch the last of the coded missive.

The Lieutenant's face blanched.

"We have an incoming keter-class kinetic weapon.  They're planning to divert it to a splashdown not far from here, and our orders are to aid the effort.  We've been sent a series of firing calculations based on known mass, velocity, and our position and armament."

Admiral Laren glanced out the forward bridge windows, and grit his teeth, muttering under his breath.

"I thought they didn't make weapons *that* big anymore..."

He allowed his eyes to sweep over the entirety of his charge.  The UES Yorktown was the largest of Earthgov's small contingent of supercarriers, and it was a gloriously mammoth statement of Naval power.

A dozen squadrons of FA-26 Scythe fighters, bombers, and a few assorted jamming and early warning planes, along with four contingents of special forces troopers, two embarked cutter boats, thirty-odd SWICC craft, fifty VTOLs, and a handful of missiles and torpedoes for self-defense.

The Bridge alone was a multi-story affair, split into the command bridge on the top deck, with C&C functions and helm, and a fly-bridge beneath for aircraft control, observation, gunnery control, and in-port maneuvering.

Laren grunted, and turned to face his officers once more.

"They do realize that we're a carrier, not an assault gun, right?"

He shook his head and held up a hand before anyone could respond.

"Feed the numerics to tac-con, and get it all set up as-asked.  Sound ready-stations and wake the beta-shift."

As his crew repeated the orders with typical decorum and stone-faced purposeful visage, Laren turned back to the windows, and contemplated the possible outcomes of the day.

As a series of yellow lights began to pulse softly along the wall stanchions of the chamber, synchronized to the mournful tune of a ready-stations alert, he decided that whatever was happening, it certainly wasn't a training exercise.

He glanced over his shoulder at the chief telemetry officer, locking eyes with her to get her attention.

"Commander, I want every eye we have turned on this thing.  I want to know when it arrives, how fast its going, where its going to arrive...  I want to be able to see pits and bumps on the outside of the damn thing."

The woman nodded curtly, "Bringing SPY-Seven fire control LADAR to bear, requesting SatVision taskings, preparing thermal and radiological pallets, and tuning SONAR to record impact data."

Laren turned his head to listen as his radio operator fed the numerical calculations to the gunnery control officers.

"All kinetics, all missiles;  We are tracking a single target coming down from orbit, proceeding at three-zero kilomachs inbound on track seven two seven five.  Lock kill-box on target and task AI racks with full-precision tracking.  Load warheads for maximum payload and direct gun carriages for acute impact angles."

The man glanced back to the Admiral for final confirmation.  Laren nodded once, slowly.

The operator clutched his headset closer, and spoke fervently into the microphone.

"Fire! Fire! Termination order dispatched on killbox one alpha."

The admiral turned to watch as the flight deck vanished in a cloud of smoke.  Missile after missile belched forth from the VLS and side-launch tubes, generating a mile-high plume of ejecta as dozens of independently controlled warheads streaked skyward.

Moments later, every single kinetic weapon aboard the ship began to cycle through its ammunition magazine as if the world were about to end.

Laren's eyes hardened as he watched the streamers of hot tungsten blaze off into the teal void.

He felt the deck quiver beneath him, and heard the roar of a thousand cycling breeches, and he wondered if perhaps, the world were about to end in a literal sense.





Captain Eldridge wanted to make something explode.

The commanding officer of the Battleship Tohoku had been having a bad day.  First a munitions officer had dropped a Shiva missile on a gunner's leg, and sent him to the infirmary, disrupting an entire shift of drills.

After that, the battle net had died abruptly, and the entire system had gone downhill pell mell into complete chaos.

No one seemed to be able to give him answers, and that frustrated Eldridge.  When the Captain became frustrated, he liked to take it out on the nearest acceptable target.  In full.

The UES Tohoku was one of the single deadliest weapons Earthgov fielded.  The Battleship's gargantuan main battery was capable of reducing something the size of a megatropolis to fine glass powder from half a world away, within a matter of minutes.

'No muss, no fuss,'  As Eldridge liked to say.  The phrase had become the ship's unofficial motto in recent months.

While not as large as a carrier, the vessel was practically all guns, armor, and engines, with room for only a few VTOLs and eight fighters.  Afterthoughts in the logistical sense, at best.

When paired with a battlegroup, Eldridge believed that nothing short of the wrath of God Himself had a chance of stopping the Tohoku on its worst day.  And even God would suffer long odds in his opinion.

The Captain burst onto the bridge at full-stride, barely pausing to ensure he didn't shatter his ankles on the lip of the bulkhead door.

His eyes went directly to his XO;  A tall, dark man from South Africa with a voice nearly as deep as the sound of the ship's forward armaments.

Eldridge sighed, "Give me some good news.  Scratch that.  Give me *any* news, as long as it's news."

The Commander gestured to a standing console, and allowed the captain to read the digital ticker as he summarized in baritone.

"Northamerizone Command just came back online.  There's been a series of sweeping attacks, and the enemy gained control of something called a 'THOR.'  Initial projections say that we're looking at---"

Eldridge interrupted as he read the number for himself.  The statistic chilled him to his marrow, as surely as if he had jumped into the sea, and sank to the very bottom.

"One Hundred MILLION dead?!"

The XO nodded slowly, "Based on initial impact, radiation flash-out, secondary tidal effects, and tertiary geological and logistical effects.  Vancouver will suffer nearly complete mortality rate.  Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, and every settlement in between will suffer the secondary and tertiary effects.  Earthquakes, fires storms, weather pattern disruptions, tsunamis..."

The Captain raised an eyebrow as he glanced back down at the ticker.

"They actually think they can stop this...?"

The Commander shook his head, "Not exactly.  Apparently someone had the bright idea that we didn't have to stop it.  Just make sure it lands somewhere far enough out in the ocean.  They sent us telemetry with the initial comm burst."

Eldridge nodded curtly and gestured with a hand, shouting to make himself heard by all the officers in the chamber.

"Listen up!  We have a priority tasking! Prepare the ship for level zero operations.  Sound red alert, action stations, and begin a ninety degree starboard snap-turn.  Cut all forward engines and deploy sea anchors and stabilization gyros.  Put the formation at combat alert alpha and prepare a staggered-X firing plot.  Link all ships to our central server racks and standby to begin bombardment operations!"

To their credit, the men and women snapped to their orders without so much as a curious glance.  They had been serving with Eldridge long enough to know what the tenor of his voice meant.

As the bridge went dark, and dull red emergency lighting began to pulse, Eldridge raised a hand towards the XO, gesturing forward.

"Let's move!"

The two men dashed to the forward port side access door, and out onto the companionway.  A stiff breeze kicked a spray of salt into their faces, but it did absolutely nothing to deter them.

The officers took a set of ladder-stairs down one deck two at a time, racing forward on the lower companionway towards the next nearest entry door.  As they reached the middle of the catwalk, alarms began to sound, and the ship lurched sharply to starboard.

Eldridge's hat got caught in the shifting breeze, and sailed away aft, flying out over the nearest destroyer in the formation, which itself was practically swamped by the wake of the battleship as it cut an incredibly tight circle into the sea.

He ignored the loss.  It was inconsequential.

The two men burst into the gunnery control center at full tilt.  Eldridge had to pivot smoothly to avoid sending a Yeoman into the bulkhead.  He snapped his fingers rapidly to get the attention of the personnel on deck.

"Gentlemen and ladies, this is the day to end all days!  We are going full-bore.  So break out the special stuff and don't hold anything back.  I want every AI on this ship tasked with the following directions, and I want every single weapon we have loaded and ready.  Warning red, we are live-fire as soon as you get these numbers into the plotting stations."

The XO raised his DaTab, and began reading out information at a volume that seemed to shake the monitors in their sockets.  As he spoke, the crew jumped to their tasks with a will, feverishly entering data into consoles, and allowing their partners to cross-check swiftly for validity.

"All weapons, acquire track seven two four three descending from orbital track.  Calculate for acute impact angles.  Cycle VLS to dispatch heavy warheads first.  Disengage refire governors and disconnect the main engine spindle.  Retask all engines to capacitor charging duty and prepare fire crews for coolant duty."

The vaguely horse-shoe shaped space came alive, and Eldridge savored the thrum and the tension.

He listened intently, and caught the distant clanks and thunks as immense shells cycled through maglocks and into the breeches of guns.

He stepped over to one of the few external viewports the chamber boasted, and watched as fire crews began pumping sea-water over the muzzle-brakes of the main battery in preparation for an intense stationary no-holds-barred emergency barrage.

As the final instructions died away, and the room returned to relative silence, he pivoted back and stepped to the room's central console.  

"All ships, all stations;  Fire control redirect to Tohoku-actual server.  Verify command keys are valid and release all safety interlocks."

Eldridge watched as all three main turrets rotated left with a smooth, deadly surety.  The Tactical Actions Officer made one final report as the weapons came to bear.

"All batteries, killing track seven two four three.  Helios control, link to main battery guidance.  VLS tubes one thru thirty; 
Lift-locks released, launch when ready.  All hands, all hands;  Prepare for main battery firing cycle! Brace. Brace. Brace."

A piercing screeching klaxon sounded across the ship, denoting the imminent shock that was to come.

The vessel bucked sharply as all nine barrels spoke out in sequence.  The light was so bright, the main deck cameras struggled to compensate.  The fire crews and maintenance teams huddled in their firing shelters, eyes covered by nearly-opaque protective visors and ears protected by high-frequency cancellation headsets.

The sound itself was so intense, so primal, that the ship's entire hull resonated, as if it were the last great bell, stricken at the close of all things.

Eldridge wondered, as he braced against the console, if the end of the world would be even half as loud.  The shockwave of the shells' passing depressed the water on the ship's port side by nearly ten feet, sending out four foot high compression waves.

No sooner had the shells flown, than the crews began a truncated version of the entire process once more.  It only took the main capacitors a few short seconds to fully cycle at maximum refire rate, with all governors removed.

The fire crews barely had two seconds to direct jets of supercooled ocean water at the white-hot muzzles of the guns, before the klaxon sounded again and they were forced to dive back into their shelter.

All the while, the dull roar of departing missiles, and the Helios guns, provided a consistently mind-melting background noise.  Eldridge could sometimes hear it in his sleep.  The racket was made all the worse by dint of the fact that the entire formation was doing precisely the same thing.

From above, the sight was like nothing one could find anywhere else.  The sea seemed alive, as if whipped and tossed by a great storm.  A fog bank began to form from the sheer amount of spent rocket smoke, and muzzle ejection material.  The sky and the sea both remained constantly alight with a hellish red-orange tint, visible for miles.

A half-dozen gray leviathans, desperately making an attempt to serve their calling in their greatest, and perhaps last mission.





GMT: 14:45:00
PDT: 07:45:00
Ragnar: +01:45:00

Fyrenn squinted up at the sky, and nodded.

"You definitely have it calibrated right.  I can see it now."

Skye blanched, and hurriedly locked the survey rod into place with a quick burst of her magic.  She stepped back anxiously, and glanced to Celestia for guidance.

The Alicorn nodded, and stepped up to the device, carefully using it to sight on the distant, but swiftly closing harbinger of death.  The sighting mechanism had been placed at the end of the pier, and everyone else had been moved back to the main road.  A distance of several dozen yards.

In the time it took the Princess to close the distance, and for Fyrenn and Skye to return to the group, the rod closed to a point where its displacement effect was visible to the naked Human eye.

Streamers of plasma, generated by pure nuclear fusion in the compression wave, arced off it in a series of oscillating mushroom shapes, each as bright as a noon day sun in a cloudless sky and as large as a city.

Eerily, there was no sound of any kind.

The object was travelling far ahead of its audible shockwaves, by dint of its fantastic speed.

Fyrenn started slightly as he felt a presence to his right.  He relaxed as he realized it was simply Kephic.  Varan stepped up on his left, while Skye and Carradan moved instinctively to a protected position between the Gryphons.

Fyrenn glanced at Neyla, but he found her face a complete enigma.  The pair shared a somewhat confused, albeit emotional gaze, before Fyrenn glanced down at the Ponies.

He smiled as warmly as he was able, but couldn't find any words.

With one accord, the group turned, and locked their eyes on impending death.  Fyrenn guessed that every eye in the city, friend, enemy, or civilian, was likely fixated on the same point in space.

He lowered his gaze slightly, and watched in fascination as Celestia began her incantation.

It started out as a few flitting golden streamers.  But as she murmured quietly to herself, eyes locked tightly shut, the effect grew.

As her horn intensified its glowing, and began emitting an almost musical choir of chime-like sounds, the streamers turned to much larger, wilder arcs of light.  Within seconds, the Alicorn was nothing but a shadow, within a glowing orb that itself resembled the emblem on her flank.

Despite the separation of many meters, Fyrenn felt a wave of heat wash over his face, and ruffle his feathers, like a desert wind.

As Celestia brightened to the point that only the Gryphons could continue to look on unharmed, the sky began to change to an apocalyptic shade of red.  Reflected in the water of the bay, it almost seemed as if the sea had turned to blood, and the clouds to magma.

The rod's plasma wake was simply overpowering all other wavelengths of light.  The impact from shells and missiles was now visible to the Gryphic eye;  Conduits of disturbed air or contrails, terminating in tiny flashes against the rod.

Few of the weapons were actually getting past the plasma envelope, but it didn't matter.  Any impact on the structure as a whole was enough.  Fyrenn felt his breath catch in his throat as the moment came.

At first, he thought the weapon itself had struck.  Only after his ears flattened reflexively, and shock deflection bone plates snapped shut inside his ears, did he realize that the effect was generated by Celestia herself.

The beam of heat, and light she had generated caused its own miniature fusion reactions as it generated a plethora of complex interleaved compression waves.  The roar of the sound shattered every window on the west side of the city.

Every Human within sight fell writhing to the ground, eyes clenched shut, hands clutched over their ears.

Fyrenn did his best to shut it out, but to his sensitive aural faculties, the sound was like experiencing the very pit of hell.  The heat was more manageable, but he felt his skin drying out appreciably even under the protection of feathers and fur.

He reflexively opened both wings, and crouched to protect Stan and Skye from the worst of the temperature extremes.  Both Ponies were curled into bawling fetal sacks of flesh, screaming inaudibly as their incredibly sensitive eardrums were completely destroyed.

Fyrenn gave in and clutched both claws to his ears in a vain attempt to stem the pain.  Kephic, Varan, and Neyla did the same in quick succession.

The red Gryphon watched as everything washed out.  All the world was saturated with white light to the point that there were no shadows anywhere.  In some places, Fyrenn could see straight through the skin of several Humans.

He watched, wincing reflexively, as the dermis of every homo sapiens on the block abruptly turned lobster-red, to a hue not unlike his own feathers, bathed to saturation in the light and heat.

He realized that some of them would need serious medical treatment if they all survived.  All at once, just when he thought he could endure no more, the sound came to an end.

Absolute silence descended, and he realized that he was still reflexively clenching down on the plates protecting his ears.  He released them tentatively as the light and heat finally began to fade, and turned his face skyward.

The rod remained, framed now not only by its own plasma streamers, but by the gargantuan bloom of a hyper-nuclear detonation.  The result of the collision between its unstoppable force, and Celestia's immovable beam.

Fyrenn realized he had simply stopped breathing.  His heart was barely beating at all.  His claws were clenched so tightly, that he was near to drawing his own blood.

Around him, nearly everyone else lay still.  The humans and Ponies were bathed in small pools of blood gushing forth from their ears.

Celestia was doubled over as if she were about to disgorge the contents of her stomach.  All the luminosity normally gracing her mane was gone.  For a moment, Fyrenn feared she had simply died where she stood.  He noticed, with a flush of relief, that her chest was heaving.

He forced himself to inhale, then exhale, and prayed fervently for some sign or indication of the outcome.

If the end of the world was to come, then the stage, he reflected, had certainly been set in high style.





Midnight
Ragnar: +01:45:00

When the object punctured the Barrier, Luna finally came to an understanding.  She at last grasped the particulars, and extent, of the situation.

And she was afraid.

The difference in realities did nothing to stem the energies of the fearful city-killing javelin.  It lost a small part of itself, and generated a ripple, visible to any observer flying above the Earth, but otherwise it remained unchecked.

Slowly, gracefully, the midnight blue Alicorn rose, and directed her visage upwards.  The moon had been joined in the sky by a new light.  A day-star brighter than her sister's sun.  A herald of death, destruction, ruin, and decay.

As Luna opened her muzzle, she wryly recalled that her sister had always been the one for cantrips and incantations uttered in a low and somber voice.  Luna, for her part, had always preferred song as a means to powerful magics.

To the surprise of all within earshot, a strange and striking melody poured forth from the monarch's lips.  Though the words were alien to all but the most studied scholars of ancient thaumomancy, the sound seemed somehow comforting to everyone it reached.

As Luna's horn began to fill with a piercing silver spear of moonlight, the sound of her voice began to magnify, reaching out to the whole city as it grew in volume through the aether.

Moonlight and starlight streamed down from the sky, focused onto one interminably small point at the tip of her horn by the interwoven strands of her song-spell.

As the Human-engineered calamity finally came within striking distance, blotting out the sky itself with the sickly yellow light of its passing, Luna released the power she had accrued.

Not since she had succumbed to the Nightmare itself, had she been a conduit for such destructive energies.

Reality itself split along an infinitely thin, yet infinitely long line, radiating upwards from her horn.  She felt every ounce of herself drained, to within a mere fractional breath of absolute mortality.

The impact of her energies with the rod was, at first, silent.  The fabric of all space itself in the region twisted out of shape.  Within another moment, the weapon was gone.  Isolated, and then quantum-erased entirely from the fabric of existence, and the majority of its energy with it.

What little energy remained combined with the air rushing to fill the void to produce a thunderclap heard as far away as Appaloosa.

Every window, and every other piece of glass, in all of Canterlot, and all of Ponyville, shattered as the compression wave traveled out and down at the speed of sound.

So great was the impact of pressure upon the earth, that it triggered a small land-quake.

Small bits of masonry fell from above, the clatter of their descent lost in the roar of the wind storm.

At last, however, the insanity was ended.

Luna barely managed to muster the energy to look up once more, and confirm that the sky was as it should be, before she collapsed in an unconscious heap.





GMT: 14:45:00
Ragnar: +01:45:00

"Projectile on short-range LADAR scope!"

"Course change! The rod has changed vector, and is now set to impact at forty-seven degrees, twenty-seven minutes lat, by neg one-forty-three degrees, ten minutes long!"

"Range three-five-oh kilometers from two-twenty-three degrees port...  We're inside the outer field of the projected radiation burst!"

The Bridge of the Yorktown immediately plunged into shades of deep red as combat alert lights began pulsing in time to an insistent General Quarters klaxon.

Admiral Laren straightened his cover, and strode to the port-side bank of windows.  He wasted no time on lengthy consideration. 

"Sound collision alarm.  All hands to crash positions.  Seal bulkheads at critical access points and close blast shields on all portholes and windows.  Evacuate the flight deck, seal all elevators, and order the CAP to proceed to max patrol altitude."

He turned to the front of the bridge, "Helm;  Emergency deep.  Make your dive angle thirty five degrees, open all ballast tanks and flood non-critical storage compartments on lower decks.  Open water-garage seacocks fore and aft."

Moving an area-control vessel swiftly was an exercise in extremes. The ship out-massed pre-winnowing carriers by many thousands of tons, and was difficult to sink or surface in a short duration.

Yorktown's crew had little choice.  The best protection an Earthgov ship had from radiation was submerging itself in the trillion-gallon embrace of seawater.  It was not the first time the crew had been forced to enact similar protocols to escape an attack.  It likely would not be the last.

The officer of the deck snatched up a wireless PA headset, "All crew;  Prepare for emergency deep protocol.  Evacuate the flight deck, water garages, and noncritical lower-deck storage.  Seal all red and yellow state bulkheads.  Medical teams to standby ready-two."

The ship's internal-conditions AI responded next, its atonal digitized voice lending a chilly note of surreality to the scene.

"Sealing all porthole and window shrouds."

Laren could just barely hear the comm officer speaking into his own headset across the room.

"CAP One, Yorktown actual;  Proceed with flight group to waypoint designated Sierra-three at full speed.  Hold high-altitude pattern at Angels Forty and prepare for atmospheric turbulence and loss of communications.  Cockpit polarization is advised at this time."

The officer of the deck glanced at the ship's internal systems screens, then up at the Admiral.

"All stations report ready."

Laren nodded curtly, and reached out to grip the nearest railing firmly, "Initiate crash-dive protocol."

The helmsman's stony demeanor remained unchanged, but the Admiral could tell that beneath the military exterior, the young man was terrified.  Laren sighed, if he were to be honest with himself; so was he.

The helmsman seated himself and swiftly clicked a five-point restraint harness into place.  He then revolved a small carbon-fiber wheel, inscribed with a digital indicator, until the luminescent numbers on its face read '035.000.' 

"Dive planes and actuated thrusters angled for thirty five degrees."  

He pressed a series of controls on one of his touchscreens, then depressed a series of physical switches built into the panel's frame, flipping open their covers first with practiced speed.

Finally, he opened a larger switch cover, turned the small red nub within ninety degrees, and depressed it, "Ballast tank, sea-garage, and storage compartments flooding."

The ship automatically began sounding the alert klaxon once more.  Laren shifted his legs, bracing himself as the ship began to list forward.  He watched grimly as a wave overtook the bow, tossing an unsecured VTOL off the deck and into the sea.  The expense of three lost aircraft and a few tons of munitions was tertiary at best, but still galling.

The Helmsman gulped slightly, "Bow submerged."

Laren nodded and tensed, "Flank speed!"

"Flank speed! Aye!"  The helmsman followed up by placing a white gloved hand on the enormous throttle quadrant.  He pressed the large rubberized gray assembly sideways, disengaging the built-in locks, and pushed it all the way to its stops.

The large convex curved screen beside the quadrant went wild as it responded to the requested change, displaying current speed and acceleration at the top, as well as a series of glowing arrows on a line of numbers and dashes, and a number at the bottom estimating time until the requested speed was achieved.

The Yorktown bucked like a bronco, the shuddering and squeal of alloy beams under pressure providing a deeply unnerving counterpoint to the collision alarms.

Anyone, and anything that wasn't securely fastened to a surface immediately went flying.  The remaining objects on the carrier's deck were swept away as if by a typhoon.  Laren caught one last glimpse of a munitions cart tumbling away in pieces as the bridge window shrouds irised closed.

The view was immediately replaced with a holoscreen representation of the ocean beyond, complete with depth and trajectory markings.

Laren winced as the ship continued to accelerate at a sickening downward angle, turning his world on end, "When depth is sufficient, level us.  Avoid the thermocline at zero-five degrees starboard."

The deck officer operator spoke up, unable to turn in his own locked seat and five point harness, "At present speed and angle, we will achieve minimum sufficient safe-depth.  Barely."

The Admiral grunted, his face grim, "You better pray so lieutenant.  And get the medical teams moving as soon as we're level."





The rod streaked across the final leg of its journey with a sound that would have made Apollyon, and all the minions of Hell itself, screech in protest.

Passing over the last of the Northamerizone's landmass, the object traveled in a dreadful, graceful, morbid arc towards the north Pacific.

The moment of its first impact went unobserved by any direct form of sight.  This was to the advantage of all, for the blinding flash was so bright that it turned the sky momentarily blue across the entire hemisphere.

It was as if the sun had somehow risen properly for the first time since the Winnowing.

As the light abated, the radiological fallout poured forth.  Unseen, but not unmeasured, the horizon absorbed the majority of it, Mother Earth's curvature shielding her inhabitants from the unseen, but searing atomic foe.

The kinetic release of the first impact vaporized a crater into the sea that was over a mile and a half deep, and ten miles wide at the rim.

Two survey craft, unfortunate enough to have been in the region, were instantaneously reduced to a fine cloud of carbon mist by the pure energy release.

Seismographs registered it as a 15.6 Earthquake.

It was the most powerful Human-caused nuclear detonation in all of Earth's history.

An untold quantity of air was vaporized as well, though the surrounding atmosphere was unable to rush back and fill the void for several seconds, as the compression wave of the impact-proper emanated outwards at Mach one.

When the void finally did fill, the thunderclap was so powerful it punched a temporary four mile hole in the ozone layer, ensuring a permanent and noticeable disruption to weather patterns across a quarter of the globe for a decade to come.

The slagged remainder of the rod went on unchecked, finally reaching the seafloor at a speed of just under Mach twelve, protected from the water's retarding effect by its own super cavitation.  

The secondary impact created another, smaller momentary nuclear explosion, and accompanying bubble of vacuum.

As the sea-water finally began to rush back into both the primary, and secondary impact zones, the last vestigial fragments of the rod buried themselves half a mile into the crust of the Earth with their remaining momentum.

The final impacts loosed ten dozen tremors across the rim of fire as fault lines burst, and magma chambers popped like balloons under the pressure of Rayleigh waves.

The sea floor for a hundred miles underwent sudden liquefaction.

The ocean itself seemed to collapse into a jet of water three miles high.

The sea level for the entire Pacific Ocean changed instantly by several measurable millimeters.

As the ejection column collapsed downwards, punching a peculiar mile-wide hole in the seventy-mile wide mushroom cloud of the initial impact, it became the genesis for a hydrological compression wave that made Cascadia look like a child's toy dropped on the kitchen floor.

The largest Tsunami on Earth.
> Chapter 31
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 22nd, Gregorian Calendar

As the sky began to fade back to its usual dull teal-gray, Fyrenn shook his head slowly.  All around, the sound of agonized grunts and groans revealed the bittersweet truth.  Salvation had come at a painful cost.

The Gryphons and Ponies had been protected from the heat by their fur and feathers.  In turn, they had paid with incalculable pain to their sensitive ears.  Skye and Stan still had not moved, and tears were flowing freely down their cheeks.

Fyrenn tilted his head from side to side and worked his jaw, trying to cleanse the phantom ringing in his head.

While the Humans in the area had fared better, in terms of their ears, their skin's relatively weak defenses had left them blistered and seared.  Some would need days in a nano-regeneration chamber just to complete the first phase of the healing process.

Even Celestia looked worse for the ordeal.  The Alicorn had taken up a kneeling stance in the center of a perfectly smooth crater of duracrete.  Nothing else remained of the pier besides the peculiarly symmetrical gray bowl of slag, still red hot at its edges and steaming in a dozen places.

Fyrenn's breath caught in his throat as his gaze swept upwards.  The sky looked as if it had been gashed by a great and terrible sword.  Layer upon layer of impossibly strange, and terrifyingly large cloud formations blotted out the usual droll vista.

"My God...  What have we done?"

To his surprise, Varan answered quietly, his normally stoic voice tinged with a strong hint of awe, and relief.

"What we had to do.  And many millions will be grateful for it."

The words finally broke through the icy layers of Fyrenn's shock.  He shook himself, and bent low over Skye's shaking form.

As he scooped the softly weeping creature up in his forelegs, Kephic bent over Carradan and duplicated the maneuver.  Fyrenn cast about furtively for the nearest medical tent.  The moment he spotted his quarry, he took off at the fastest lope his hind legs could sustain in bipedal configuration.

The Gryphons found the inside of the triage facility to be no less chaotic than the outside.  Most of the people within had been spared the heat of Celestia's spell, but the fabric of the structure had done nothing to blunt the force of the sound.

Nurses and Field Medics dashed to and fro with bandages, swabs, and injectors.  Most were still holding gauze to the sides of their own ears, even as they rushed to treat their charges.

Fyrenn spotted a pair of open pallets, and made a beeline for the folded textile slabs, carefully picking his way around the moaning, shaking bodies of the injured.

As Kephic laid Stan down on the first cot, he fixed Fyrenn with a troubled gaze.

"Will they be safe here?  If the impact has generated a large wave..."

Fyrenn nodded, "It must have.  But I don't think that's a concern for us here.  The harbor is protected by a large land-break, and sea-gates.  The water level will rise, but it's nothing the barriers and drainage systems can't cope with.  They're well overbuilt."

As the red Gryphon gingerly laid Skye out on her stomach, he glanced over his shoulder and tried to locate the nearest unused medkit.

His brother beat him to the discovery, snatching the small red and gray case from an overturned storage locker, and tearing the cover off so violently, that the plastic split in two.

Kephic held up the lower half of the disheveled container, and shrugged both wings.

"Do you know anything about treating ear injuries?"

Fyrenn shook his head.

"I do."  Neyla's voice gave the red Gryphon a start.  He sheepishly realized that his nerves had been badly frayed by the sight of his two Equine friends laid low.

Neyla stepped forward and gently relieved Kephic of the medkit, calmly and carefully selecting a series of chemical vials from a padded compartment in the lower left corner.

"Load these for me please."

Fyrenn and Kephic quietly did as they were told, while Neyla set to work cleaning blood and fluid out of the Ponies' ear canals.  Fyrenn gulped, and squeezed his eyes shut momentarily as a particularly nasty blob of congealed mess came loose from Skye's right ear.

Neyla spoke softly, as Fyrenn and Kephic handed her the loaded injectors.

"You pick up useful skills working with Human fire teams.  They have fragile ears, and Dragons have a propensity for creating loud noises."

Fyrenn nodded as the Gryphoness swiftly administered the foul smelling gray chemicals to Stan and Skye.

"Is the damage serious?"

Neyla nodded, and rose.

"Yes.  But not permanent by any means.  Their own bodies will do most of the healing work, and provide invulnerable infection defenses.  I have simply given them something for the pain, something to stem the bleeding, and something to combat potential secondary injury from swelling."

Kephic smiled wanly, his ears rising slightly as his mood improved.  He jerked a thumb talon at Fyrenn. 

"Honestly, I don't know how he survived all this time without you.  He's a lousy medic, and an insufferable worrier."

A flash of mixed emotions erupted behind Neyla's eyes.  Fyrenn tensed internally as he watched her ears pin back, and her muscles coil.  He knew she was angry, but he also thought he saw confusion, and even sorrow vying for expression in the downturn of her beak.

Wordlessly, the Gryphoness stormed out of the tent, nearly knocking over a medic in the process.

Kephic winced, and glanced apologetically at his brother.

"Sorry...  I had no idea that she would---"

Fyrenn held up a claw and shook his head, "What have you got to be sorry for?  I don't understand it any more than you do.  Only Neyla 'gets' Neyla these days."

The speckled Gryphon nodded sagely.

"You two should really try to work that out.  It was easier for the rest of us when you understood each other."

Fyrenn rolled his eyes and sighed, shifting his wings nervously.

"Sure.  Tell her that.  I've had about as much success so far as you'd have attacking a brick wall with a barley sheaf."

Kephic shrugged once more, and cast a final glance down at Skye and Carradan.  The two Ponies had ceased crying, and seemed to have drifted away into a peaceful doze.

Fyrenn extended the edge of one wing, and softly brushed the latent tears away from Skye's cheeks, lowering his voice to ensure he did not wake her.

"Come on.  We've only got a couple minutes before the secondary effects hit.  We might as well lend a claw in shoring up whatever we can."

The siblings carefully made their way back out of the tent, and onto the remains of the pier.  The chaos had slowly begun to settle into an uneasy form of organized milling-about, largely thanks to the arrival of more personnel from the Blue Ridge.

Some of the crowd even managed a half-hearted cheer as a series of ambulances arrived from the direction of downtown, and disgorged teams of doctors and paramedics.

Fyrenn shook his head and whistled as he took in the view of the city.

Dozens of fires raged across the horizon, sending thick black columns of smoke up to join the already convoluted masses of gas, ash, and condensation in the upper atmosphere.

The sounds of small transformer explosions intermingled with the dying rattle of a few fragmented firefights between remaining HLF personnel, and regrouped defensive troops.

Above the lower frequencies of commotion, hundreds of sirens wailed in a mournful orchestra.

The air reeked with the smell of fear, death, scorched duracrete, and spilled coolant.

Fyrenn realized with a jolt that several of Vancouver's largest super skyscrapers were missing entire chunks of their interim floors.  The gaping wounds had doubtless once provided a hidden home for missile defense emplacements.

On any other day, the scene would have been one of pure horror and pain.  But for Fyrenn, it was instead a relatively welcome sight.  The death toll was absolutely nothing compared to the apocalyptic fires they had all been spared.  

Spared by a tiny margin.

Though the conflict was all but finished, Fyrenn could see and hear signs that the HLF did not intend to withdraw quietly.  The most obvious indicator was a fierce dogfight still in progress over the north quarter.

Invisible at such range to Human eyes, the red Gryphon could easily pick out the sleek silver form of a Scythe battling the remaining YF-23 at knife-fight range.

The HLF fighter was pouring smoke from one wing.  Fyrenn knew the outcome was likely fixed, but he nevertheless maintained close scrutiny, until the Widow finally erupted in a satisfyingly large fireball.

The FA-26 peeled off into a bank turn, and began strafing runs on a ground position almost immediately.  Fyrenn surmised that the pilot had likely located the source of the initial missile bombardment.

He tore his gaze away from the horizon in time to see Neyla complete a hurried conversation with Varan, and General Sorven.  As he loped over to the group, the Gryphoness pushed off silently, and beat a hasty flight path out over the bay.

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow as he closed to within speaking distance of the group.

"Where is she going?"

Sorven jerked a thumb in a south-southwesterly direction.

"The electromagnetic falloff has shut down everything wireless across most of the state.  She volunteered to deliver the Tsunami warning to regional emergency coordinators across the bay.  They're in the most at-risk area."

Varan nodded in agreement, spreading his wings and taking a step backwards.

"I have volunteered to deliver information to General Lantry about the situation here."

Fyrenn held up a claw, and narrowed his eyes, "You did warn her about the compression wave before she left?"

His words were met with total silence, and a series of confused gazes.  Kephic sidled up to the group, and raised an eyebrow.

"Compression wave?"

Fyrenn's eyes widened, and a rising note of panic injected itself forcefully into his words.

"YES! COMPRESSION WAVE!"

Sorven held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture, and reflexively leaned back.

"Relax.  I've had my ears treated already.  You don't need to shout."

The red Gryphon snapped his wings into the open position, and speared Sorven with a furious glare of white-hot rage, and abject panic in equal parts.

"How would you suggest I react?!  An impact like that creates an airborne compression wave powerful enough to SHRED AIRCRAFT!  Anything, I mean ANYTHING that doesn't have a firm grip on TERRA FIRMA is going to be turned into sticky RED PASTE, in less than SEVEN MINUTES!"

Sorven blanched.  Her skin turned nearly as white as Kephic's snowiest primaries.

"I...  I'll pass the word to everyone else..."

Fyrenn was gone before the sentence left her lips.





"MEDIC! *NOW!*"

Shierel's voice brought an instantaneous halt to all activity in the room.  The strut-rattling volume of the command was matched only by the predatory undercurrents of her tone.  No one mistook the words for a request, and no one misapprehended the potential consequences of refusal, or incompetence.

The Gryphoness was covered in blood;  Her own, her enemies', and that of the misshapen lump cradled in her forelegs.

The moment the senior medical officer tore his gaze off her red-soaked beak, and managed to take in the sight of her precious cargo, he lost sight of all else.

The man rushed forward and gestured Shierel towards a clean biobed, barking orders to his staff as he went.

"Get me a crash cart and prep an IV drip of Tetrasynthokar-four.  I want a liter of coagulation nanites and a cellular regeneration chamber RIGHT NOW!"

Shierel placed the barely-living remains of Lieutenant McBride on the proffered operating table, and stepped back.  As adrenaline finally began to flush out her system for the first time in hours, she had to fight the impulse to shake from a combination of sorrow, panic, and exhaustion.

Wisely discerning that the regional hospitals would be overwhelmed, the Gryphoness had carried McBride across the entire city, down to the Naval Station at Mare Island.  Not even bothering to locate the base hospital, she had instead alighted on the nearest service tender, and sought out the sickbay.

Shierel collapsed in silence onto another empty bed, taking her eyes off of the Lieutenant just long enough to take a proffered towel, and clean some of the blood, viscera, and grit off her face.

The man's body had been completely severed at the torso, and left shoulder.  All the remained was his head, neck, right arm, and part of his chest cavity.  In Shierel's mind, it was a miracle she had been able to keep him alive with the tattered remnants of his vehicle's medkit, a blow torch, and an impromptu transfusion of blood from some HLF 'donors.'

She swiveled both ears forward, watching and listening intently as the ship's medical staff fought to save McBride.

After several minutes, during which the team pumped the Lieutenant full of nanites and coagulation chemicals, administered multiple forms of electrical shock, and passed him through a cellular regeneration tank, the doctor finally ceased his ministrations.

Shierel knew the answer to her question from the expression on his face.  She merely refused to accept it until the man spoke the words aloud.

"I'm sorry.  There's nothing else we can really do for him.  He's suffered too much simultaneous organ trauma."

The Gryphoness bit back tears, exerting every ounce of her will to keep her voice on an even keel.

"How long?"

The doctor shook his head.

"Fifteen minutes.  Maximum."

The Gryphoness paused, her mind racing to combat the rising tide of emotions that threatened to overwhelm her faculties, and fill her chest with insurmountable pain.

A plan sprang almost fully formed into her brain, and the fires of hope sprang anew.

Wordlessly, she rose, and dashed to the access hatch.  Almost as an afterthought, she turned, fixing the medical officer with a deadly serious glower.

"Keep him alive until I return."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Second Day, Celestial Calendar

"Your majesty... I hate to disturb you, but---"

Luna interrupted the guardspony with a wave of one hoof.

"I am disturbed enough by the incessant fussing of these doctors.  Make your report in full."

The stallion respectfully cast his eyes to the side and nodded.  Though the royal physicians had protested stringently, she had insisted they examine her within the comfort of her office.

The Alicorn had reclined as best she could on one of her couches, and submitted at last to a series of probing magical diagnostic spells.

She felt as if the process was pointless, but she accepted that it was better to be certain in the present, than remorseful in the future.

The guard delivered his information in a monotone, though Luna thought she caught a small hint of relief, even happiness, undergirding the words.  She didn't blame the stallion for the lapse in control.  She was quite relieved to be alive herself.

"No deaths have been reported, nor any injury more serious than a gash from falling stones, or window shards.  A few mothers have prematurely entered labor, but as far as I know, they are expected to bear healthy foals properly, with no serious risk.  As for the structural damage...  I saw no intact glass anywhere in the city during my rounds.  Several buildings have suffered serious fault, but the rest seem to have been damaged cosmetically only."

Luna nodded, and exhaled slowly.

"Thank you captain.  That will be all for now.  Take a moment to find your family and reassure them that the danger has passed."

The Stallion suppressed a smile, and bowed his head respectfully.

"As you wish Princess."

As he turned to exit the study, he paused.

"With respect Highness...  What of the... 'Condition' of the sky?  The clocks read half past noon, yet the Moon is full and the stars are out."

Luna allowed herself a small grin.

"At present, I am exhausted beyond the capacity to remedy the situation.  The night shall last...  For a few hours longer."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 22nd, Gregorian Calendar

"No!  I don't want your hypothesis, your best guess, or your god-damn opinion!  I want boots on the GROUND and CONFIRMATION!"

Mr. Stalin slammed his fist down on the touch panel, abruptly terminating the communique.  He swiveled his head to the form filling the doorway to his office.

"WHAT?!"

To her credit, the Sergeant maintained absolutely perfect posture and tone despite the verbal assault.

"Sir.  I'm here to deliver the communications, and intelligence reports you asked for."

Mr. Stalin gestured silently for her to enter, and laid his head in both hands.  He had been awake for almost thirty hours straight, and he knew the strain was beginning to sap his control.

"Make your report Sergeant."

The young woman nodded, clasped her hands behind her back, raised her eyes to the middle distance, and began to spout off in a perfectly atonal fashion.

"Signals Intelligence has identified definitive references to an impact in the northeastern Pacific Ocean region at fourteen-forty-five, Greenwich mean time.  Confidence is high.  Reliable sources within Northcom indicate that the assault on Fort Hamilton was ultimately a failure, citing the appearance of...  Unexpected assets in the combat zone.  All field units in the area have missed scheduled check in."

Mr. Stalin sat up, and swiveled his chair around one hundred and eighty degrees.  He stared blankly into the display case on the wall, allowing his eyes to rove back and forth aimlessly over the antique firearms contained there.

The Sergeant continued unabated.

"The Retribution reports moderate damage sustained in its action, but they were able to depart the impact zone in advance of the event, as planned.  The projected impact area is still under total wireless silence, and is expected to remain off the grid for at least another two hours.  Visual inspection from Retribution, and radio intercepts from the Yorktown indicate with great surety that Vancouver was not severely affected."

Mr. Stalin sighed, and spoke without turning to face the officer.

"Is there any *good* news?"

"Reports from San Francisco indicate our assault there did a great deal of damage to military infrastructure.  The Conversion Bureau was destroyed completely, though some local agents believe, from a rough headcount, that an overwhelming majority of the on-site personnel and civilians were evacuated first."

Silence descended on the room.  After an uncomfortably long period, the Sergeant began to shift her stance from one foot to the other.  At last, Mr. Stalin nodded, keeping his gaze fixed on the display case.

"Dismissed."

The woman returned the nod, spun on one heel, and marched out of the office, pulling the hatch closed behind her.

Mr. Stalin sat in total silence, and relative darkness, for the next half hour.  His mind required most of the time to simply come to terms with the scale of the failure he had presided over.

At last, he rose, and carefully straightened his uniform.  He perused the display case of weaponry once more, but with a more critical eye.

Carefully, almost reverently, he slid back the glass partition, reached out, and hefted a soviet-made Makarov semi-automatic chemical round driven pistol.

Beneath each weapon in the case, a series of clips or loose shells were arranged in an aesthetically pleasing fashion.  All were completely functional historical surplus.  Some had cost more than a small tank to procure.

Mr. Stalin slid the Makarov's clip into the butt of the pistol, and quickly cycled the action, chambering a round.  With a small, wry grin, he reflected that it was a perfectly ironic, even poetic choice of weapon given his code-name.

He placed the cool tip of the barrel to his temple gently, and brought his gaze up to the room's security recorder suite.

He spoke directly to the small black half-sphere.

"I have faced demons...  And I have lost.  I am an unsuitable warden to Humankind.  I have failed my species."

Then without further ado, or preamble, General Clarence Atherton, third highest ranking officer in the entire Earthgov military, known to the HLF only as Mr. Stalin, pulled the trigger.





Fyrenn was used to flying at break-neck paces.  He was even used to a constant, insistent worry, that often accompanied him into dangerous situations where the lives of innocents would be at risk.

Yet, aside from a few Wisp-related incidents, and the case of Skye's 'death,' he had never felt quite so strong an emotional impetus to push himself beyond his limits and into dangerous territory.

He had always known, from the moment he had awoken on the Conversion table, that he was capable, under duress, of forcing his body to harm itself in the process of accomplishing an otherwise impossible task.

But he had rarely ever had need of that capacity.  He could count the number of times on both front claws.

He ruefully decided that once the disaster was well and truly over, he would have to begin counting on his back paws as well.

While Pegasi were the undisputed record-holders for pure speed in a straight line, by a factor of ten, Gryphons were certainly the closest runners-up.

Fyrenn had known truly skilled flyers to overtake small aircraft with relative ease.

He didn't consider himself to be an especially skilled master of his wings yet, but he had managed to develop several unique tricks and tactics by leveraging his love of all things fighter jet related.

Much to Kephic's chagrin, he had used and thoroughly abused ground effect in conjunction with gravity to gain enormous bursts of speed within city environments.

The red Gryphon beat his wings furiously, remembering everything Sildinar had taught him about using elegant strokes to get maximum force for every last erg of expended muscle energy.

Vancouver whipped past at an alarming rate.  Fyrenn had been forced to maintain a straight line close to the surface of the bay at first, but as soon as he crossed over into the south-west quarter, a plethora of tall buildings became available as potential avenues for his clever maneuver.

Fyrenn selected the closest, and began to shed speed slightly in favor of altitude, denying his body the right to slacken its pace as gravity began to fight him in earnest.

At a slower pace, a Gryphon could fly for days at a time without the need for prolonged rest.  At the speeds Fyrenn was travelling, he decided it was a divine gift that he hadn't fallen from the sky dead of exhaustion and hypoxia.

The entirety of the city spread itself out for him below and beyond.  If he crossed his eyes and ignored the smoke, it was almost possible to imagine that it was simply another normal morning in Vancouver.

Half a mile up, and moving faster than a VTOL, with the wind whipping through his ears, it was possible to drown out the sounds of chaos below.

The Gryphon's ears were mostly filled, in-fact, with the insistent tattoo of his heart as he stressed the organ to its theoretical limits, and beyond.

He hadn't been sure what he thought about Neyla.  Fyrenn hadn't been sure for three years.  He reasoned that, in total, he still wasn't completely sure.  But he knew, with absolute certainty, that he cared enough about her to dread the thought of losing her.  To dread it in the same way he had dreaded the loss of Skye, or any other member of his small family circle.

Whatever confusions, frustrations, fears, and anger he felt;  They were instantly subsumed and crushed utterly by the overwhelmingly primal imperative.  

'Save your loved one.'

A tiny part of Fyrenn's brain noted, with some interest, that he was now in the area that had once been the city of Richmond.  Before it became absorbed into Vancouver's megatropolis.  The most tell-tale indicator was the Richmond Building itself.  The mega skyscraper which Fyrenn was doing his best to summit at full speed.

He estimated that he had traveled almost twenty kilometers in a matter of five minutes.  That put his average speed at something just shy of one hundred and fifty miles per hour, a velocity he normally sustained in a climb for less than a single minute at a time.

The fastest he knew he had traveled for a fact, clocked with pitot tubes, a GPS, and an accelerometer, was just over two hundred and eighty six miles an hour.  That had been under ideal test conditions, on a perfect day, down the side of the tallest building in New York, with a half mile 'run up' from directly above.

He knew he could have reached over three hundred, but the idea of such a harsh turn into level flight at the bottom of his trajectory had frightened him.  He wasn't sure he could manage it without injuring his wing joints.

But the fear of what might happen to Neyla, should he fail to reach her in time, far outweighed any mere concern for his own bodily safety.  The concept of holding back for his own sake never even crossed the darkest thresholds of his survival instinct, let alone his conscious mind.

With a start, and therefore an added rush of adrenaline fluids, Fyrenn realized he had less than two minutes left to reach Neyla.

After what seemed to be an eternity, he finally reached the top of the Richmond building.  He spared barely a tenth of a second to glance out at Tsawwassen district, and plot his route, before he began his dive.

He knew that if he lost focus, or missed something, he would likely end up knocking his brains loose against the side of a building, or garroting himself at speeds high enough to fracture his neck and spine.  Even the tiniest guy wire, or the slightest bad air current would be certain death.

Fyrenn pressed himself as close to the side of the building as he dared, allowing physics to take over for him as he pulled his wings into a tight, drag reducing configuration, and began to augment gravity with shallower beats.

The plexiglass of the tower's myriad floors passed by at a colossal rate, a mere two inches from his paws, claws, and wingtips.  The sound was something akin to the passage of a maglev at full throttle.

The reflection of the ground below in the tinted glass produced a dizzying effect, as parallax and pure speed met in a way no Human had ever directly observed.

To any outside onlooker, it looked as if a bolt of red lightning had struck the side of the structure.

Fyrenn knew he had long since shattered his old speed record.  Possibly every Gryphic speed record ever set, given that there were relatively few spaces in Equestria where his unique maneuver would be possible on such an epic scale.

He knew, because condensation had begun to visibly compress on the leading edge of his wings, a phenomena he had only observed on aircraft, and Pegasi, in the past.

As the final ten floors of the building flew up to meet him, he began to flare his wings, doing his best to take a shallow, long arc into level flight.  The immense pressure, and pain, caused by the stress almost caused him to lose focus.

In mentally decelerated timeframes, pain had a way of taking on a whole new meaning.  Much of a Gryphon's most important and difficult battle discipline stemmed from learning to maintain 'bullet time' in spite of major injuries, or emotional trauma.

The great gift of bolstered perception was sometimes a great curse in its own right.

Fyrenn knew he could ill afford to loose even a tiny bit of the time dilation occurring in his brain.  He would wake up in pieces on the street, to find that Neyla was little more than ashes on the wind.  If he woke up at all.

At last, he completed the turn, his wing joints screaming for relief with an internal force so powerful that he lost track of the seconds he had been counting since the start of his trip.

He found himself in level flight, less than ten feet above the roadway, making subtle adjustments to his wings and tail within the space of microseconds to correct his course on a macro level.

Block after block fell away at a dizzying pace.  As Ladner road blew past, he realized that he had traveled another twenty kilometers.  Some swift mathematical estimates, nearly at the expense of his life as he dipped to avoid a low bridge, told him that he was travelling at almost three hundred and fifty miles an hour.

An inter-city Maglev would be hard pressed to keep up.

He had long since given up beating his wings by the time he spotted Neyla against the backdrop of the sky.

The motion, he realized, was actually slowing him rather than aiding any attempt to conserve his forward momentum.

He slowly began to spread his wings out from their intake-like configuration, into a more traditional flight shape.  His velocity began to drop radically, but he still maintained a comparatively blistering pace.

Shedding a few more miles per hour in favor of altitude, he rose to the same flight level as his companion.

By his now-skewed estimations, he had only seconds left.  He had no desire to discover how much 'give or take' his pain and emotion muddled mind had introduced to the ticking clock.

He simply spread out both foreclaws, and let out the loudest shout he could muster.

"DOWN!!! NOW!!!"

He snapped his wings open into a drag-inducing posture, in spite of the strain he knew he would be feeling for days to come.  Neyla barely had time to turn her head to the left an inch before he struck her.

The pair fell like a rock towards the top of the nearest building.

No sooner had they impacted the concrete surface, than the world seemed to invert in a series of impossible twists.

With a sound akin to a passing freight train, the compression wave arrived in force, robbing the Gryphons of consciousness almost instantly, as the building simply shattered around them.





Shierel reached the remains of the San Francisco Conversion Bureau in a state of absolute exhaustion.  

With nothing but the power of her will, and her desperation, she overrode her body's desire for reprieve and began digging feverishly in the rubble, towards the center of the compound.

In the distance, she heard, and vaguely acknowledged, the sound of some kind of warning horn.  Whatever it was, it held no concern for her.  She had only one objective.  Failure would mean a total loss of Lieutenant McBride's last, and only hope.

It was, in the end, the subtle glow that led her to her goal.  By some incredible miracle of providence, a single glistening specimen of the object she sought remained intact, despite the fact that its housing chamber had crumpled around it.

As gingerly as a mother might hold her newly hatched fledgling, Shierel withdrew the object from its resting place, and examined it carefully for cracks or nicks.

It was intact.  She smiled.

Hope lived still.
> Chapter 32
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 22nd, Gregorian Calendar

"Oooooooooof.  What...  Exactly..."

Fyrenn grunted, and forced his eyes open as the sound of Neyla's voice pulled him back to the land of the living.  Every muscle in his body ached, and his head felt as if it had been struck with a half ton anvil.  Repeatedly.

"In simple terms;  Very large explosions produce very large air disturbances.  Very large air disturbances kill flying things.  I made sure you weren't flying when the very large air disturbance hit.  You're welcome."

As Neyla silently worked to process the words against the backdrop of her own headache, Fyrenn carefully took stock of the situation.

Aside from his aches and pains, the first thing he noticed was the darkness.  There was absolutely no light, whatsoever, of any kind, for his eyes to magnify.

Ruefully thinking back to a similar situation during his knighthood trials, he reached carefully into one of the hard shell pouches on his back left leg plating.  In spite of the pitch black, his talons easily found the edge of the emergency glow stick.

He pulled the item towards his beak, snapped it, and shook it vigorously.  A dull yellow-white glow suffused the chamber, and the constraints of the situation at last became apparent.

The two Gryphons were buried, completely and utterly, under a plethora of debris chunks both large and small.  Everything from steel girders, to shattered pieces of bricks.

Incredibly, there was enough space for the pair to co-exist without being crushed.  Unfortunately, Fyrenn swiftly realized that 'enough' space was barely more than a few meters cubed, minus the uneven protrusions of the impromptu wall and ceiling.

Fyrenn also realized, with a physical jolt, that he was pressed directly up against Neyla.  The pair were as close as they had ever been, side by side, and there was no room whatsoever to maneuver.

After a moment of silence, Neyla sighed.

"Well.  This is..."

Fyrenn nodded.

"Awkward."

Another protracted silence followed, before Fyrenn let out an enormous sigh.

"Alright then.  You've saved my life today, I saved yours...  And we promised each other we would talk about...  What happened.  So.  You first."

Neyla raised an eyebrow.  At such close range, Fyrenn found it hard not to alternate between staring deeply into her eyes, and carefully mapping out the feather patterns on her cheeks.

"Are you joking?"

Fyrenn tried to shrug, and realized he couldn't move his wings upward.

"Why not?  We're not going to be able to move the entire building that just fell on us.  And even if we could make a start, we'd risk making it infinitely worse."

Neyla's eyes widened in fear.

"But how are they going to *find* us?!"

Fyrenn raised a claw as far as he could.

"Relax.  I don't imagine very many structures collapsed in total.  Our armor beacons will become visible to them again in an hour or two, when the effects of the EMP pass.  They'll get to us if we're patient."

After yet a third silence, somewhat more amicable and contemplative in nature, Neyla spoke up once more.

"Well...  Thank you.  For what you did."

Fyrenn smiled, displaying surprising warmth, "Thanks appreciated, but ultimately not necessary.  It's what you do for those you care about.  That's just what we are.  And I wouldn't have it any other way."

Neyla sighed, and shook her head slightly.

"So you want to talk about what...  'Happened' to us?  You're sure?"

Fyrenn snorted, "No! Of course I'm not sure! But what else are we going to do trapped down here for two hours?"

The Gryphoness chuckled wryly.

"Point taken.  Fine then..."

She thought for several moments, then her eyes narrowed, and her ears pinned back slightly.

"Explain to me why you pushed me away."

Fyrenn's beak fell open.  For a moment, he silently worked his jaw.  At last, the words came unstuck from the back of his throat.

"How can you even *ask* that?!"

Neyla's glare sharpened.

"What is that supposed to mean? How can I not ask?!  You...  You...  You're like a stone WALL!  You won't let me in, and I have *no* idea what's going on in your head anymore!  It wasn't like that when I first met you.  Why did you change?"

Fyrenn returned the glare in kind.

"Why?!  Because you kept PUSHING that's why!  Did it ever occur to you that what you were doing...  Making a pass at me that way...  That you *scared* me? Did that thought *ever* cross your mind?!"

Neyla pulled back as far as she could, stiffening.  Fyrenn could feel her muscles coiling into bunches like steel cords.

"Did it ever occur to you that it was time to move on from your irrational psychosis about romantic involvement?  Did *you* ever stop to think that what you did hurt me deeply?!  I was ready to love you!  And not just as a friend!"

Fyrenn raised his voice as high as he dared in the confined space.

"And I WASN'T!!!  I wasn't ready Neyla!  I was terrified beyond anything I can describe..."

Neyla's face fell.

"I scare you?  Is that how you see me?!"

Fyrenn groaned in frustration, squinting his eyes as hard as he could.

"No!  No no no absolutely not *no!*  You? You're wonderful.  You're kind, you're caring...  Fiercely intelligent, creative, adventurous, wise..."

He watched as the Gryphoness began to blush furiously.  He knew he was doing the same beneath his feathers, but their bright red hue mercifully disguised the tell tale signs. 

Fyrenn kept speaking, quickening his pace as his emotions intensified. 

"You are... Well you're perfect.  You don't scare me.  *I* scare me."

After a moment of calm, punctuated only by a tiny stream of dust falling from part of the ceiling, Fyrenn realized that Neyla was patiently waiting for him to continue.  To spill out his entire soul at last.

Hesitantly, he obliged.

"I have...  I have watched so many relationships self destruct horribly...  Because one or both of the people involved were unprepared...  Incapable of seeing past their desire..."

The red Gryphon shook his head as adamantly as he could, given the constrained space.

"I just can not risk becoming a monster that way.  I saw it happen to my closest friend.  I had to watch him die, *twice,* once by my own claw, hand, whatever it was then---"

Neyla placed one claw on Fyrenn's right foreleg.  The contact left him dumbstruck.  He felt as if an electric current had been passed through his brain.

The Gryphoness allowed him a moment to breathe, then took up her discourse once more, her voice and expression both much softened.

"I've dealt with the same issues.  God knows, and so do you...  I've dealt with precisely the same issues.  I know you understand when I say that having to shoot someone you love through the head, or the heart, because they tried to end your life first?  That leaves you with..."

Fyrenn nodded, "Questions.  About your judgement."

Neyla mimicked the gesture, placing her other claw on Fyrenn's other foreleg and again subjecting him to a jolt of emotions.

"But I overcame that.  I overcame that because I realized that everyone makes mistakes.  That my judgement was partly at fault...  But that I had also been carefully deceived.  Just like you were.  And that we had so much in common...  And that you were *worth* the risk.  Don't you think I'm worth risk?"

Fyrenn let out a sound halfway between a sob, and a chuckle.

"That's not fair.  If I say no, not only will you be offended, and not only will you point out that I just risked my life for yours... But I'd be making myself a liar.  If I say yes, your point is proven."

Neyla grinned, the lurid glow of the emergency light giving her a frighteningly predatory aspect on top of her joviality.

"So you're admitting defeat?"

Fyrenn took a deep breath, and shook his head slowly.

"No.  And here's why..."

He paused to collect his thoughts, before continuing.  Slowly and deliberately.

"It isn't fair...  Wasn't fair, for you to put that sort of pressure on me.  You moved on?  I didn't.  Sometimes I still have nightmares about what happened to Robert, and every time it's about the same thing happening to me.  I haven't gotten past that yet, and you tried to force closure on me before I was prepared for it."

Neyla inhaled slowly, and nodded as she delivered her response.

"Fine.  I'll grant you that...  But what I put you through was no more or less unfair than what you did to me.  You're brave, honorable, steadfast, loyal, moral to a fault, daring as they come.  And we have so much that we share in common...  About our past, and the way we think, and speak, and act, and what we believe..."

Fyrenn found himself struggling mightily to keep back a stream of tears.  He lost the battle miserably as Neyla continued.

"I gave you as much time and cushioning as I could stand to.  But I was ready, beyond ready, to delve deeper and see if we could make something more of our relationship.  Your fear blinded you, and instead of saying all this to me then and letting me help you?"

Fyrenn gulped, and tried to keep his voice from breaking as he finished the thought.

"Well the human phrase is a 'knee jerk.'  I didn't think.  I couldn't.  I was so scared I was turning *into* him...  Little by little..."

Neyla tilted her head, and pierced the red Gryphon with an inescapable, probing gaze.

"How can you believe that?  How can you see yourself in such a dim light?  I know you.  I know you perhaps better than you do.  You're capable of many flaws.  You left me sobbing nights and nights on end because of your flaws...  But you're not capable of becoming a monster like that.  It's not in your nature anymore."

"How can you know that for sure?"

The words escaped Fyrenn's beak more as a sob than as a question.

Neyla smiled sadly.

"Faith.  Well grounded faith."

Fyrenn shook his head vigorously.

"Saying it, and believing it intellectually?  Very different from believing it in here..."

He tapped his chest for emphasis with one talon.  Neyla sighed, and reached out with her right claw.  She gently laid it over Fyrenn's heart.

"Maybe you're wise not to completely trust yourself...  So trust *me.*  You are not him.  You will never be him.  People of his low caliber could never hope to be anything like *you.*  Not even in their wildest aspirations."

For a moment, Fyrenn silently wept, at last abandoning all effort to hold back the confused tidal wave of emotions that Neyla's words had unleashed from the inner storehouses where he had buried them so carefully.

At last, he managed to get out the words he had been meaning to say for three years.

"I'm sorry.  I'm so...  So sorry..."

Neyla blinked rapidly to clear her own tears, and sighed.

"You're right though.  I owe you an apology too...  This mess came as much from my pushing as from your hedging."

Fyrenn allowed a small smile to cross his beak.  He wiped at his eyes with one dust encrusted claw, and finally managed to bring his heaving sobs under control.

"There.  Was that so hard?"

Neyla returned the smile.

"No harder than it was for you.  No one ever told you how this works?"

Fyrenn paused, and a small chuckle escaped his beak.

"Those were the first words you ever said to me.  I was so baffled by the dome...  In the library..."

Neyla nodded, "You remember."

Fyrenn exhaled slowly.

"How could I not?  That was the day you helped me find my new name."

There was, once more, silence.  At last, Neyla spoke again.

"So.  Where do we go from here then?"

Fyrenn shook his head and exhaled again, shuddering as his body continued to reflexively heave from his earlier bout of weeping.

"Honestly?  I don't know.  We can't just pick up where we left off..."

Neyla rolled her eyes.

"Give me some credit.  I do know, and accept that."

She tilted her head, and perked both ears as she thought, finally settling on a wording she liked.

"I propose that we do what all those pilot types you idolize do."

Fyrenn smiled, "That being?"

"We 'fly by the seat of our pants.' "

The red Gryphon narrowed his eyes.

"I perceive a flaw in this plan.  We don't have pants."

Neyla groaned.

"You are insufferable."

Fyrenn nodded, "I know.  And in all seriousness...  I suppose I agree.  I still don't think I'm ready to go much further than 'really really really good friends.'  For now.  But we both have to accept that all roads are still open."

The Gryphoness nodded and sighed, "That's fair.  Like you said, we can't just pick up exactly where we left off...  But at least we can stop being so cold."

"Yes.  And I think we needn't be afraid to talk about it more.  We were both guilty of that, and we can't afford that kind of lapse anymore."  

Fyrenn's tone finally began to approach an even keel once more.  Neyla's followed suit.

"Agreed.  Very much agreed.  I think its time we both accept that what we do, what we don't do...  What we say, and what goes unsaid, affects more than just one of us.  So I will hold you to that."

Fyrenn nodded, and the pair lapsed into silence once more.

As the glowstick sputtered, and began to die, Neyla surprised Fyrenn by pushing up against his right side, and working her way into a protected, and very intimate position under his wing.

The red Gryphon stammered, and barely managed to form cogent speech.

"Ah...  Uh...  Well...  That's...  Why would you...  After what you just said?!"

Neyla offered him a piercingly sad half-smile.

"I've spent the last three years missing you.  More than I cared to admit, especially to myself.  After they dig us out?  We have to abide by our ground rules, and that will be very strange and difficult for me.  Let me have this one warm, happy moment, at least."

Fyrenn sighed, and smiled, making a conscious effort to release his tension.

"Well, when you put it like that..."





"Good God!  What did they DO to you?!"

Hutch chuckled as Aston raced to come alongside his stretcher.  He immediately regretted allowing his mirth expression, and the laugh devolved into a cough as his ribs protested violently.

"You should see the other guy..."

The Commander bent low over her friend's stretcher, and put a finger to his lips.

"I did.  They were hauling what was left of him away in pieces on a halftrack.  You need to save your breath.  You look like you've just been through a meat grinder."

Hutch reached up with one hand, and clamped down on Aston's arm with a surprisingly powerful grip, considering his condition.

"Any news?"

Aston smiled widely, and nodded.  She ducked to the side to avoid an oncoming stream of technicians, before rejoining the small parade of doctors and junior officers accompanying Hutch's stretcher.

"We just got word through a fiber land-line ten minutes ago.  Your friend Varan personally delivered the good news to Lantry, who passed it on up the chain.  Thanks to you and Taranis, they were able to coordinate a plan and divert the rod into the northwest Pacific."

The General sighed, and allowed his arm to fall back to the stretcher.

The group passed carefully through a set of unhinged doors, and out onto the street.  The entire boulevard had been closed to civilian traffic for a six block radius, and emergency vehicles had descended in a thick swarm.

The air resonated with idling engines, hastily barked orders, and the clatter of boots on paving stones.

As the paramedics began to lift Hutch's stretcher into the back of a waiting ambulance, he glanced down at Aston again.

"What else do I need to know?"

The Commander sighed, and vaulted up into the back of the vehicle carefully making space for herself on a bench seat as the doctors began to set up a series of IV drips for the General.

"Vancouver and New York weren't the only targets.  There were also large scale attacks in San Francisco and Singapore.  We avoided the worst of the catastrophe, in a lot of ways, but there are thousands dead.  Maybe more after the tsunami hits on the West Coast, and in Asia.  In terms of logistical disruptions, the damage is...  Extreme."

Hutch inhaled slowly, and winced as one of the medical technicians drove a three inch needle into his right arm.

"How bad?"

Aston shook her head, and cast her eyes down to the floor of the vehicle.  She paused as the rear doors closed, and the Ambulance lurched off the curb, into the street-proper.

"From what I've heard?  Vancouver is in rough shape.  No specifics there yet.  In Singapore, the Earthgov complex went mostly unscathed in spite of a bombing attempt, but the Conversion Bureau was half-torched before the military police finally got organized.  Rioting is still in progress.  As for San Francisco?"  

Aston winced as the Ambulance accelerated into a particularly sharp turn.

"Apparently the only standing above-ground military structure left is the Naval Station at Mare Island.  And...  The Conversion Bureau was completely levelled.  There are at least twelve confirmed dead civilians, and over six hundred military casualties there.  And climbing fast."

Hutch nodded slowly, and coughed once again.  The sound seemed less gravelly to Aston, likely as a result of the medications now coursing through the man's bloodstream.

The General managed a few final words before the sedatives fully took effect, "Find out about everyone else...  I want...  A... Head count---"

Aston smiled forlornly as Hutch's words faded away into a loud snore.





"I guess I'm dead."

Shierel nearly jumped several inches into the air at the sound of Lieutenant McBride's voice.  She raised her head from the side of his cot, and smiled.

"Why would you say that?"

The Lieutenant grinned sheepishly.

"Well because you look like an angel to me."

The Gryphoness chuckled, and shook her head slowly.

"Hardly.  I haven't even had a chance to get all of the blood out of my feathers."

The Lieutenant inhaled slowly, and squinted up into Shierel's eyes.

"What exactly happened?  I remember the cabin got hit..."

Shierel nodded, "Yes.  You were injured gravely.  I brought you to the naval base, but we were forced to evacuate several minutes ago."

McBride stiffened, and grunted.

"Evacuate?  Why?"

The Gryphoness shook her head, and glanced away to the horizon.  The Lieutenant realized, with a start, that they were outdoors, in the midst of a makeshift triage center set up on some poor soul's front lawn.

"There was an attack on Vancouver.  The enemy made use of a weapon so powerful that it could not be stopped entirely.  It struck some distance northwest of here, and produced a large wave.  Everyone along the coast had been moved inland."

The Lieutenant nodded, and closed his eyes.

"So how bad is the damage?  To me, I mean."

There was a long pause.  When Shierel spoke, her tone carried a note McBride had never heard in her voice before.  

Apprehension.

"You lost over half of your body.  I wanted to wake you...  To ask your permission...  But they told me doing so would kill you instantly.  You only had minutes left to live regardless.  So I did what needed to be done.  The only thing I could have done."

The Lieutenant opened his eyes wide, and tried to sit bolt upright.  Instead, he only succeeded in rolling off the cot.  Shierel reached out with both forelegs to help him steady himself.

It was only when McBride looked down at his own legs, all four of them, that he realized what had happened.

He slumped gingerly back onto the gurney, and stared down at his own newly minted foreclaws in disbelief.  Though slightly larger than Shierel's, and of a somewhat different hue, they were unmistakably Gryphon claws.  And they were unmistakably his.

"I...  But...  How did you...?"

Shierel held up a small empty glass cylinder, etched with a silver delta superimposed over an inlaid gamma.

"There was one left.  It was perhaps the only intact thing in all the rubble.  I'm sorry that---"

McBride laughed, and shook his head vehemently, dislodging the new feathers around his ears.

"No no! No...  This is not something for you to be sorry about...  You saved my life.  And the new wings aren't too shabby either..."

He chuckled, and glanced back over his shoulder, gently working the new limbs back and forth as much as he could without disturbing other nearby patients.

"I just...  I don't quite know what to say yet...  I thought Humans had to pass all kinds of tests and things before they handed out your potion..."

Shierel sighed, and smiled wanly, her ears perking up as the Lieutenant's good mood relieved her of her fears.

"I do not believe either of us will get into any trouble over this.  I will vouch for you if necessary."

McBride held his head up as far as he could without losing his balance, and allowed the breeze to flow over his face, ruffling the feathers of his neck and cheeks, and toying with his ears as if they were windsocks.

"I...  Think I could definitely get used to this."

He opened his eyes, and scanned the horizon, his grin widening.

"That's incredible...  I had no idea there was so much...  Everything!"

Shierel couldn't help herself.  She began to laugh.  McBride decided the sound reminded him of a cross between wind chimes, and a choir of heavenly hosts.

The Gryphoness glanced over her shoulder, stiffened, and then held up a claw.

"I'm sorry, I must attend to this.  Please don't try to move just yet.  It will take a few minutes for your mind to accept that your sense of balance is different."

McBride smiled, crossed his forelegs, laid his head down on the impromptu pillow.

"I'm not going anywhere.  Yet."

He watched as the Gryphoness ambled over to a pair of stone-faced officials.  The men didn't look like military police, in spite of their light body armor.  McBride surmised that they were likely logistics officials.

Between the two men, a young forlorn Pegasus colt stood, eyes fixated on Shierel as if she were the last and only thing in the world that mattered.

The Gryphoness conversed animatedly with the two men for a moment, at one point hissing and causing the shorter of the two to step back in fear.  At last, the senior official produced a DaTab, which Shierel signed deftly.

The men then turned, and vanished into the commotion from whence they had come.

McBride kept his eyes fixated on Shierel as the Gryphoness knelt beside the colt, and pulled him into a comforting embrace.  He could tell the young Pony wanted to cry, but was simply too shell shocked to process his situation fully.

He could also tell that Shierel's presence meant the world to the little Pegasus.

At that precise moment, Lieutenant William McBride decided precisely what he wanted for his future, and precisely how he was going to get there.

He smiled up at Shierel as she slowly made her way over to his cot, her little Pegasus in tow under the protective canopy of one partially spread wing.

The Lieutenant glanced down at the colt, and waved.  The little Pony returned the gesture shyly, then tried his best to burrow into the feathers and fur of Shierel's left side.

McBride glanced up at the Gryphoness and whispered.

"So he's..."

She nodded quietly, her expression sober.

The Lieutenant sighed, "So what happens to him?"

Shierel smiled slightly, "I have no qualms about becoming a mother.  I plan to care for him."

McBride grinned, and beckoned for her to lean in closer.  As soon as the Gryphoness was in range, he reached up, and touched the side of his beak to her right cheek lightly, whispering.

"Correction.  *We* plan to care for him."

At first, the Lieutenant was afraid Shierel would pull away.  But instead, she pushed into the impromptu kiss for a long, silent moment. 

As she pulled away, smiling, she nodded.

From that moment on, McBride always referred to the moment as the happiest he had ever been in his life.





If San Francisco and Los Angeles had the advantage of distance from the impact zone, then Vancouver had the advantage of a large uninhabited land break.

Nonetheless, the kinetic fury of the towering wave would not content itself with consuming two and a half miles of barrier landmass.

The titanic wall of water diffused some of its energy outward, producing a cascade of relatively smaller waves and ripples.  Several of the disturbances raced inland through the various waterways and gulfs of the area, reaching a height of nearly fifty feet through compression.

Though most of Vancouver's occupants had been given sufficient warning, there were still a few for whom there was no escape.

Though the casualties were relatively low, the structural damage was substantial.  When the wave struck, it completely demolished the first two blocks of waterfront property.  The foaming cascade continued inland, further damaging another five blocks worth of vehicles and lower-slung buildings, before it finally subsided into a more manageable trickle.

At last, however, the disaster was well and truly over.

As the sun set on March twenty second, 2117, in spite of all efforts to the contrary, Vancouver still stood, a myriad glittering lights testifying to the millions who had faced certain death, and survived.





Fyrenn woke with a start.  It took him a moment to remember where he was, and another unusually long moment for him to realize that he had been jolted into consciousness by the sound of voices, and heavy machinery.

He nearly jumped once again when he realized that Neyla had fallen asleep as well, still under his right wing, and at some point had reflexively nestled her head in the crook of his neck.

He shook her gently, and her eyes snapped open.

"HMMMMM!?!"

Fyrenn held up a claw.

"It's alright.  I think we've been found."

Neyla glanced up at the red Gryphon, then stiffened.

"I'm sorry.  Was I...?"

Fyrenn chuckled, "Nestled very very close to me?  Yes you were.  I have to confess I fell asleep too.  I can't remember the last time I had decent rest."

Neyla sighed, and shook her head.

Fyrenn exhaled slowly, "We speak of this to no one."

Neyla inclined her head in agreement.

"Especially not Stan."

Fyrenn glanced up as a particularly large stone fell away, to reveal the face of a helmeted emergency worker.

He raised his right claw, and waved.

"Hi there.  What took you so long?"
> Chapter 33
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 23rd, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn decided that sometimes even the heat of combat was less tiring that a particularly stringent debriefing.

As soon as he and Neyla had been rescued, he had first demanded to know about Stan and Skye's condition.  He had been sufficiently assured that they were not only awake, and improving, but frantic for news of him and Neyla.  Then he had turned to baser needs.

Waving off all attempts at medical examination, treatment, debriefing, or any other heckling, Fyrenn had simply sought out the nearest working shower, and then the nearest available bed.

After a blissful nine more hours of undisturbed rest, he had been ushered onto a transport VTOL by a pair of humorless Military Policemen, and packed off to Seattle.

The entire morning had then been spent in high level debriefings with more five star JRSF and Military generals than he cared to count.

Inasmuch as the point of the hearing was to collect, organize, and distill information from the parties most heavily involved in the defense of Vancouver;  Fyrenn managed to work out several interesting pieces of news to satisfy his own curiosity.

Based on other testimony, and the nature of several questions, he discovered that there had been no fatalities on the Council.  The HLF had been too focused on containing Celestia to deal with such 'lesser priority targets.'

The Princess herself had been spirited away in the dead of night for a return journey to Canterlot.  There had been no official word on her condition, save to note that she was cogent, but dangerously drained.

Fyrenn also learned that the attacks in New York, San Francisco, and Singapore had ultimately been repelled, and routed, albeit at great cost.

Finally, he had managed to come by an initial casualty estimate.  An estimated seven, to eleven thousand dead across all four attacked cities, with two thirds of that number belonging to the military.

From a conversation with one brigadier general in particular, Fyrenn guessed that the HLF was about to pay for its failed assault in spades.  There were rumors of everything from a complete top-down review of military brass, to martial law across half of North America, and even a return to televised execution by firing squad for anyone found to be complicit in the attack.

Earthgov seemed to be treating the matter less as an act of terrorism, and more as an all out act of undeclared war from an equal aggressor.  And rightly so, in Fyrenn's opinion.

He knew for a fact that there was serious talk of re-organizing military command completely, with an emphasis on transferring assets and authority to the JRSF, and expanding the military's power to intervene without Council approval.

The Council itself had been moved to a secure bunker somewhere in Europe for a marathon series of emergency sessions.  

New York, Singapore, Vancouver, and San Francisco had been transformed into full on miniature military nation states. 
Whatever central command said was the law of the land, and not even local political authorities were being allowed to countermand their directives.

Some parts of the Northamerizone transit network had even been shut down by executive military order.

The populace wanted answers, and reassurances.  The media wanted a sensation.  The military wanted blood in the streets, up to the necks of the condemned.

Fyrenn simply wanted a few days to breathe.

At some point close to half past ten in the evening, the committee finally ran out of coherent questions to ply him with.  Fyrenn found himself abruptly dismissed, and left entirely to his own devices.

He wandered the halls of the building aimlessly for half an hour, doing his best to locate his companions.  The facility had originally been designed to host business conventions, but as soon as the relief efforts to Vancouver had begun in earnest, the space had been transformed overnight into a military command center.

There were guards, fully kitted out in heavy suppression gear, wielding full sized tactical RAC-7s, stationed at almost every corridor junction and doorway.  The juxtaposition of the kevlar, plastic, titanium with subdued lighting, plush carpet, and faux leather was jarring.

The air of paranoia, and rage, was palpable.

Fyrenn himself felt a strong impetus to empathize.  He still technically held an Earthgov military commission, and he had served for many years before Conversion.  The attack felt personal to him on a myriad of levels.

At long last, the red Gryphon located two of his friends in the building's cafeteria.  Due to the lateness of the hour, the space was almost entirely deserted.  Stan and Skye had pulled together two smaller tables in the center of the room, and unloaded what looked like the facility's entire dry-goods consignment for the day onto the surface.

Predictably, Carradan had set apart nearly three quarters of the food for himself, leaving Skye to dig into a more reasonably sized portion.

Fyrenn chuckled as he sidled up, plopping down on his haunches and laying his head to rest on a clear space in the midst of the packages.

"Anything decent in here?"

Carradan snorted, gulping down an enormous muzzle-full of freeze dried vegetable mix.

"No.  But food is food, of which I have not had any since yesterday morning."

Skye rolled her eyes, and picked idly at a small pile of haycakes, her tone as flat as the dried pre-packaged plant product.

"Gee.  What a shame.  However will you go on."

Carradan paused, and glared good naturedly at the Unicorn.

"Hey, listen sunshine, even major general tank commander red-baron fuzzybritches over there will tell you;  An army marches on its stomach."

The rotund Pegasus plowed into another packet of MREs, before pausing, and glancing up at Fyrenn suspiciously.

"So.  What *exactly* happened to you after you left us to get our ears in order?  I heard a rumor you were buried under six hundred tons of real estate insurance nightmares with Neyla...  How was that?"

Fyrenn pierced his friend with a nearly-lethal glare.

"Dusty.  Cramped.  Unpleasant.  Finish your vegetables while the grown-ups talk for a little bit."

As Carradan continued to stare suspiciously, Fyrenn turned his gaze to Skye, and smiled, his voice immediately softening.

"So what have you heard so far?  Any idea where everyone else is?"

The Unicorn shook her head dolefully.

"No idea short of an educated guess.  Probably tied up in an endless snore-fest like you were.  Bureaucracy is kind of like science, in that its pretty easy to predict.  Main difference being that science is useful."

Fyrenn snorted, and toyed with a synthetic meat strip before ripping off a piece, and swallowing it whole.

"I almost started to feel as if I was on trial for a bit there...  They seem to have a talent for asking lots of pointless questions, and answering none of the important ones in return."

Carradan belched, and nodded as he interjected once more.

"Yeah, like 'what happens now?'  Are they gonna send us somewhere for more boring jaw jacking?  Or can we go home already?"

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and shrugged.

"You can go home if you like.  I have no intention of following.  If the military is going to have its pound of flesh, I want to be at the head of the collections team.  I charge heavy interest, and the HLF is long overdue."

Skye chuckled, and raised a hoof in protest.

"Easy there commander bloodyfeathers."

The red Gryphon squinted, and shook his head slowly.

"Nicknames?  Again?  You two have a serious problem.  You should get that checked."

He paused, and stared down at the synthetic food in his right claw.  With a sinking sense of nostalgia, mixed with depression, he realized that he was slowly coming to despise it.  The ration had once been his favorite snack food in the world, but years of acclimation to Equestrian meat had stilted his taste decidedly in favor of fresh, healthy, natural meat products.

He shook his head again, and sighed.

"I am getting tired of all this.  The bureaucracy I mean.  And the politics.  And the media, because Heaven knows they're probably pumping the public full of lies, half truths, panic, and bloodlust..."

Fyrenn glanced up at Carradan, and smiled wanly, his ears flattening slightly in embarrassment.

"No offense Stan."

Carradan winked.

"None taken buddyo.  I  admit, I was part of that whole rat race once...  And I realize I hated it almost as much then as I do now.  You'll get no arguments from this peanut gallery."

Fyrenn nodded, and sighed again, inhaling deeply and exhaling slowly.

"I think...  That this may be the last time for me."

Skye's magic abruptly cut out, midway to lifting a haycake to her lips.  The flat wafer dropped to the floor almost as swiftly as her jaw fell open.

"Hang on...  Say *what* now?!"

Fyrenn inclined his head.

"You heard me.  I think this is it for me.  In terms of visiting this planet.  I love a lot of things about Earth.  I have friends here, good friends...  But...  I guess it's just because I've spent so much time as a Knight now...  I can't adjust back to being in a command structure that's made up more of red tape when it counts, but has no oversight when it doesn't."

There was a long, uncomfortably somber silence, during which the only noise was the hum of the lights, and the crunch of Stan chewing contemplatively.

The red Gryphon laid his head back down on the table, and closed his eyes, continuing in a softer, exhausted tone.

"I think maybe when this mess is sorted out, I'll suspend my commission with Earthgov.  Start looking for a more permanent living situation in the Kingdoms.  See what kind of interesting trouble I can get into on behalf of the crown---"

Stan shook his head and flared both wings in distress as he cut his friend off sharply.

"Slow down there.  You're just tired and sore is all.  Don't make any set decisions until you've had time to think it through, ok?"

Fyrenn nodded silently, his beak rapping comically against the stainless steel surface of the table in the process.

He rose slowly, and stretched, the mannerism evocative of nothing so much as an enormous housecat, or a lion.  He flared first his right wing, and then his left, working the joint carefully to undo some of the cramping.

"Alright then.  I'm going to go shower.  Again.  Until the hot water tank is drained.  With the water set to two hundred degrees.  And then sleep until something interesting comes up.  They put me in room two forty five A.  Come wake me if you find out where everyone else is."

Skye smiled and nodded.

"Goodnight admiral alacritous avian."

Carradan chuckled, and threw off a sloppy mock salute.

"Sleep well general gobbledeygook."

Fyrenn moaned, and slammed the door.

"Goodnight *children.*"





"Starting from today, there will be a complete restructuring of all departments.  All sections.  All command staff.  Every project, every expenditure, and every communique will be audited.  In triplicate."

Mr. Churchill's words produced not only absolute silence in the room, but a level of fear and tension that could practically be seen, hanging under the dull glow of the fluorescent illumination fixtures.

Never in the entire history of the front had a member of the HLF cabinet committed suicide.  Mr. Stalin's death, and the subsequent inevitable revelation of his true identity, had sent shockwaves through the entire organization.

A Special committee had been formed simply to attempt to deal with the matter of covering up his death, to prevent Earthgov from discovering the betrayal of one of their top command officers.

Everyone in the room knew that, should the government come to realize how deep their infiltration went, the organization would be effectively finished.  Their continued stability was, in Mr. Utah's opinion, balanced on a knife edge.

They had expended over seventy percent of their major functional military assets and fully trained troops, to no avail.  If anything, they had succeeded in providing Earthgov with an unprecedented wedge to turn public sentiment away from pro-Human movements and mentality.

The wheels of the news media, greased amply by the scent of blood, had begun to spin quite swiftly.  Already there were rumblings amongst the major outlets.  Stories would soon be running that would snidely equate any pro-Humanism, or even the slightest anti-Equestrianism, to murder and pillaging and psychotic tendencies.

The public would look for something reachable, quantifiable, convenient, and tangible to blame, as they always did.  Mr. Churchill's words mirrored his thoughts almost exactly.

"We are set upon from all sides as a result of this.  The media will crucify us.  The military will throw absolutely everything they have into finding us.  Their internal security will be stepped up to the point that several of us may be unable to communicate with the Front at all after tomorrow, for an extended period."

The man sighed, and began to pace at the head of the immense steel table.  Behind him, on the room's main holoscreen, muted news reels played in tiled windows, offering a sobering backdrop that reinforced his every statement.

"We are critically low on useful assets.  We are in danger of losing the majority of our general sector public sympathies.  We are in grave danger of being discovered in full by the government.  I want to know how the *hell* this happened.  I want options for a rebound strategy."

The man pinched the bridge of his nose between his right thumb and forefinger, gesturing with his left hand towards the cabinet as a whole.

"As of right now, you are all disavowed and terminated.  Each of you will have precisely ten minutes to convince both myself, and the group, as to why you should be reinstated and allowed to live.  When that's done, whomever is left will hold a referendum on who will take Mr. Stalin's place, and we will then work on a plan to fill the vacated position in the relevant cabinet."

Mr. Churchill paused, and glanced up.

"If any of you fail to present a good argument on your behalf, there will not be a chance for appeal.  So speak quickly, and eloquently.  These may be your last words."





"Okay then ladies and germs, eyes front!"

Aston's voice brought a halt to all sound in the room.  She glanced out over the workstations, and smiled.

"As of right now, as I'm sure most of you are already aware;  This is command central for evacuation, and security in New York!  Fort Hamilton is more or less a smoking crater, thanks to a pretty large lizard throwdown, and has been declared a total loss as of today.  So.  ConSec Headquarters is now officially Joint Command headquarters for the northeast Amerizone, until the end of the month.  Congratulations.  Now lets make sure everything is running as smoothly as possible by the time Hutch is back in the big office."

Conversation, and work, started up again.  First as a dull murmur, then as a controlled roar.  The ConSec situation room had originally been designed to host fifty people at most.  With some creative restructuring, the capacity had been pushed into the range of one hundred.

With Fort Hamilton gone, and no other suitable command centers close enough to the action, the space had become the defacto home for the military, evacuation coordination, and the JRSF regional command, in addition to its continued duties as a ConSec post.

Aston paused to survey the room's new layout, and familiarize herself with the location of the most important desks and offices.

The room's original central holotable had been removed, replaced by several added wall screens.  Nine tenths of the floor space was now given over to waist-high cubicles, each seating three personnel from a specific division.  

The inner edge of each cubicle was a wraparound desk serving all three officers, with a miniature holotank in the center.

With a smirk, the Commander watched an unlucky Gryphon attempt to squeeze himself into the space with a minimum of discomfort.  Whomever had designed the new layout clearly had very little concern for ergonomics, for any species.

She sighed, and leaned against a support strut.  Four years ago the room had been staffed with forty five Humans and five Ponies.  Now it was filled with fifty Humans, thirty Ponies, and twenty Gryphons.

Aston shook her head, and murmured to herself as she gathered the necessary energy to return to work.

"The more things change..."





Veritas shook her head slowly as she examined the report before her.  The extra large DaTab was filled to the brim with statistics, projections, charts, and useful summation paragraphs heading each section.

Every scrap of data the PER had on the Vancouver incident.

She paused, tossed her navy hued mane, and glanced up at the white, sectional dome of the ceiling.  Mulling it over, she decided that the short summation of the computer's contents was, overall, positive.

To most, it would seem as if the HLF's mistakes had played directly into the PER's hooves, by some strange twist of fate, or blind luck.

Veritas knew better.  Nothing so well timed ever happened without a governing plan.

Intense public backlash to Humanism would undoubtedly arise.  Temporary spikes in Conversion rates from people seeking to escape their fear of Human violence and mortality would bolster the numbers of the faithful.

And a renewed Earthgov focus on the HLF as a primary threat vector, at the expense of resources previously devoted to the PER would free the organization to act more willfully.

To say nothing of the fact that the HLF's attack had, for all intents and purposes, accomplished one of the final primary operational goals in her grand scheme.

The not-quite-Unicorn smiled, and rose from behind her desk.  Only one loose end remained to be pruned.

Her office, like every room in the underground complex, was windowless.  All she had to do, in order to be alone, was to speak the requisite words.

"Computer;  Seal the room."

A sharp clank, a soft whine, and a hiss told her that the door had been magnetically sealed.  The nigh-imperceptible hum of the room's security devices abruptly vanished as well, leaving her with only the thrum of the ventilation duct for company.

Veritas sat back on her haunches, closed her eyes, and allowed the world to fall away as the clock struck midnight.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 24th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn hesitated as his right index talon hovered over the DaTab's surface.  He knew if he depressed the softly blinking key, that he would cement himself consciously to a trying ordeal that he had been putting off for decades.

After a moment of silence, he realized that if he waited any longer, he might never handle the issue at all.  And he knew it needed to be handled if he wanted to make a clean start.

He pressed the key quickly, then switched off the small computer, and slid it across the counter, trying to get it as far away from him as he could.

He groaned, stretched, and let himself quietly out into the hallway.

In spite of the fact that it was six in the morning, the facility was humming with life.  As the red Gryphon made his way to the stairwell he counted no fewer than seven high ranking officers, three couriers, and two dozen guard patrols.

Fyrenn cast a swift glance at the bank of lifts adjoining the corridor's far wall, and immediately dismissed the idea of trying to cram his exhausted grumpy self into one with a dozen exhausted, grumpy Humans.

He pushed open the old style swing-door, and took the stairs eight at a time until he had reached the ground floor.

Initially, he made a beeline for the cafeteria, reasoning that he stood the best chance of meeting a familiar face there.

A welcome voice interrupted him halfway across the lobby.

"Fyrenn!  Out here."

He skidded sideways several steps, then loped towards the center's main doors.  There he found Kephic, poised at the top of the building's stairs.

"We decided to eat breakfast at an established purveyor of *actual* food.  For everyone's sanity."

Fyrenn smirked, and nodded, "Lead on.  I could certainly stand to stomach some 'actual food.' "

For a moment, the brothers walked in silence, enjoying the simple fact that they were alive, and somewhat rested.  Seattle was already beginning to grind to life as the sunrise turned the eastern horizon a lurid shade of bluish green.

Though the pair normally would have flown, they decided to walk instead by some form of unspoken consent.  For the sake of an unusual perspective.

The sidewalks were already well on their way to being crammed, and the roads were not far behind.  Everywhere the sounds and smells of Human and Pony life inundated the air.  Fyrenn found the effect comforting, and judged Kephic's reaction to be similar, based on his small half-smile.

"So.  Did they grill you too?"

Kephic nodded and stepped smoothly to the side to allow a mother extra space to push her stroller.

"Incessantly.  After midnight, I informed them that I was finished, and that any objectors could feel free to attempt to restrain me at any time, and that the last person to do so only had to remain in the intensive ward for three months."

The speckled Gryphon smirked, and glanced up at the city's shimmering skyline as he finished his thought.

"There were no volunteers."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, smiling and doing his best to keep a chuckle out of his voice.

"Golly gee.  I can't imagine why."

Another long silence followed as the two Gryphons meandered through a crosswalk.  Fyrenn realized that the image must have been rather comical for an external observer.  Two enormous leoavinids interspersed with smaller Equines and Humans as they all went about very droll, normal, morning activities.

Kephic glanced up once more, and his gaze fixed intently on a distinctive shape in the sky.  He tilted his head in confusion, and Fyrenn chuckled, realizing what had gotten his brother's attention.

"It's called the 'Space Needle.'  It is the city's oldest standing, and most famous, building.  At the time it was built, it was probably the tallest thing within three thousand miles."

Kephic snorted, and tilted his head in the other direction.  The older structure was dwarfed by newer skyscrapers.  Lit from beneath by a series of newer holo lights, it had a fantastical 'retro' aspect.

"It looks like your fictional 'flying saucers.'  I suppose that is why it has garnered so much popularity?"

Fyrenn shrugged his wings, and sighed.

"Who knows?  Apparently it used to be a big symbol of the Pacific Northwest.  Now it's one of the most famous historical sites on this side of the Northamerizone.  But you're right.  It does look like a UFO."

The red Gryphon shook his head, and quickened his pace to avoid becoming caught in another crosswalk, as the lights changed.

He glanced at his brother, and raised an eyebrow as he changed the subject.

"So have you given much thought to where we go from here?  I am not sticking around to be interrogated again, and I suspect everyone else shares the sentiment."

Kephic held up one talon briefly, and smiled.

"Aaah, but there is no need to give any thought to the matter.  Hutch left a message for us with the regional communications division late last night.  He wants us to get in touch with him this morning."

Fyrenn smiled widely, and nodded.

"It sounds like he's improving then.  I heard it from good authority that he had it pretty rough during the attack."

The two Gryphons rounded a corner, and Fyrenn immediately spotted the rest of the group.  The two Ponies were firmly ensconced in chairs on either side of a café table.  Neyla and Varan were sitting on their haunches, directly on the surface of the sidewalk.

Not only did their heads still reach above those of the Human patrons seated in nearby chairs, but their added bulk had more or less closed the sidewalk beyond the café.

Fyrenn's smile widened, and he plopped into position beside Varan, licking the edge of his beak in anticipation.

"What's on the menu?"

Neyla returned the smile, and pointed to a chalkboard sign near the door.

"Fresh bacon, made from real Equestrian wild pig."

Varan nodded sagely, sipping gingerly at a carafe of coffee as he furthered the explanation.

"This is the only establishment within reasonable distance that serves fresh meat products."

Fyrenn gratefully snatched up a carafe of his own.  Apparently the others had thoughtfully ordered already on his behalf.

He guzzled down a quarter of the container's contents, before nodding and inhaling slowly.

"Good choice.  I'm not in the mood for ration packs, and almost everything else I've been eating the last three months has been either raw, or half-cooked."

While raw meat was an accepted and enjoyed part of Gryphic cuisine, Fyrenn had often compared a Gryphon eating nothing but raw meat to a Human eating nothing at all but brown bread.  In Kephic's words, 'very tiresome after the third week.'

Neyla grunted, and blinked.

"You can certainly repeat that for emphasis.  I still can't begin to fathom how you survived on those 'M R E' bags for years at a time."

Fyrenn chuckled, and took another long draught of his coffee, savoring the dark roast with a sound midway between a grunt, a purr, and a sigh.  He jerked a thumb talon first at Kephic, then at Varan.

"Survived?  I loved those damn things.  It took these guys three years to open my eyes to the truth.  I can't believe I was so deluded."

A long moment of silence descended.  A Human waiter came, making several trips, and dropped off the party's plates.  Heaps of bacon for the Gryphons, hot barley pancakes for the Ponies, and fresh brown bread for all.

At last, Fyrenn noticed that Kephic's beak was hanging open.  Carradan appeared to have simply locked up like a malfunctioning computer.  Skye was blinking rapidly, though her muzzle was still closed tightly.

Even Varan seemed mildly surprised, though anyone who didn't know him well would have had trouble discerning that fact.

Fyrenn shrugged, and bolted down his first three strips of meat in a single gesture.

"What?"

Skye inclined her head, squinted her eyes, and spoke, having managed to regain her speech faculties the swiftest.

"Please explain to me how I got snatched up out of my bed by aliens and deposited in an alternate universe without my knowledge?  Because that's the only explanation I can see."

Carradan scrunched his eyes shut, and then opened them wide.  He repeated the gesture several more times, and then shook his head slowly.

"An alternate universe where these two never had a falling out?  Yeah I can see that.  It sure as buck makes more sense than any of my ideas.  Unless..."

The Pegasus narrowed his eyes, and leaned forward, glaring at Fyrenn.  In a mock conspiratorial whisper, shielding his words with one wing, Carradan spoke directly to Fyrenn.

"Did you two... *Kiss* while you were--- EEP!"

The words truncated into a distressed squeal as the talons of Neyla's right claw closed firmly around the Pony's neck.  The Gryphoness continued to eat casually with her left claw, not even deigning to shift her gaze to her distressed friend.

Carradan rasped a hurried apology.

"Sorry! Sorry!  Shutting up now!"

Neyla released her mock death grip, picked up her own carafe, and took a long sip of her coffee.  Fyrenn thought he detected a suppressed hint of a smirk on her beak.

Varan cracked a rare smile, and glanced at Carradan ruefully as he provided his own thoughts on the matter.

"Sometimes it is best to simply take gifts without an overabundance of questions, and instead have faith."

Kephic shook his head slowly, and began at last to delve into his own meal as he chimed in.

"Failing that, you could always just keep your own mortality in mind."

Skye snorted, and returned to inhaling and savoring the aroma of her breakfast.  The act was, Fyrenn had noticed, a ritual of hers in the mornings.

"Him?  Learn to keep his yap shut?  That will be the day."

Fyrenn worked his way through the majority of his plate, enjoying the crispy tang of the fresh food as his chewed with his inner beak ridge, mulled the bacon over his tongue, and swallowed in great gulps.

As he approached the end of the fare, and switched to the brown bread, he glanced up at the sky to estimate the time.

"Shouldn't we be giving Hutch a call about now?"

Skye smiled, and her horn hummed to life.

"That can be arranged!  Courtesy of your personal party geek."

She lifted the flap of her saddlebag, and removed her personal DaTab, flicking out the kickstand and depositing the object gracefully into the center of the table in one smooth motion.

"I'll send you the data bill by the start of next fiscal quarter."

The Unicorn reached out with one hoof, and tapped a series of keys so swiftly, Fyrenn wondered if she had taken a typing class, or merely developed the skill as she went.

The screen switched abruptly to black, then to a spinning generic loading bauble, before finally resolving into a live image.

Fyrenn winced as he took in the scene.  Hutch had propped his DaTab up on a tray.  As a result, the group had an excellent view of the two casts, five dermoplast patches, and three IV tubes the General was loaded down with.

The red Gryphon spoke first.

"You look like you've been hit by a tank."

Hutch chuckled, and shook his head.

"Please.  Don't make me laugh.  And as I understand it from Lantry, who heard it from Sorven, who heard it from Celestia...  There is a referendum to ban Gryphons from being within two hundred feet of any functioning armored combat vehicle.  Something about a violation of the Geneva conventions on weapons of mass destruction.  And then some statistics about the amount of damage you two did."

Fyrenn smiled, and waved a claw absently.

"Stop it.  The flattery truly is unnecessary."

Hutch rolled his eyes, and struggled into a slightly more vertical sitting position.

"So I'm being told, in no uncertain terms, that I won't be allowed back to my post for at least a week.  I'm also told that no one has passed down any kind of orders, requests, or suggestions to you..."

Varan nodded slowly, interjecting with a single atonal word.

"Correct."

Hutch smiled as widely as he could manage, given his circumstances.

"Good!  Then ya'll wouldn't mind making your way here?  Things are on the edge of going to pieces with the evacuation, local security, and logistics in general.  I've lost nine tenths of my trusted staff in the mess...  Laura is trying to hold things down as best she can, but we could certainly use some experienced help."

Fyrenn cast his eyes swiftly across each member of the group.  He was met by receptive smiles, and outright nods in some cases.

He smiled himself, and nodded to the screen.

"I think we can arrange that sir."

The General groaned.

"You will never stop doing that will you?"

Fyrenn chuckled, "Sure I will.  The day I resign my commission."

Hutch grunted, and prepared to sever the connection.

"Yeah.  That'll be a reaaaalllll cold day in hell."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Fifth  Day, Celestial Calendar

It was not common knowledge to outside races, but Changelings slept.  

Even in their native form, under ideal conditions in the Hive.  The mechanisms driving their dreams, and subconscious brain activity were far removed from those of other organisms, but the basic concept of somnolence for cellular health was the same.

The principle applied as much to overqueen Chrysalis, as to the lowliest Drone in the smallest colony.

Chrysalis herself had endured a string of difficult nights, leading to a state of near-perpetual exhaustion.  At first, the issue had been the apparent loss of the Razor Spires Hive.  Some theorized a natural disaster, others a Gryphon invasion.  Chrysalis had only learned the truth a day previously.

Rebellion.

The concept was so unthinkable, that the word itself in the original Changeling language had been all but lost to the sands of time.  The Queen was life, and life was law.  That was the mantra her mother had taught her, and it was the axiom she would teach her heir one day.

Dissent was always terminated and subsumed with such alacrity that most Drones grew up believing that it was a physical impossibility to defy an order, and live.  It helped that this imagery was re-enforced by strict execution rules in the event of usurpation, insubordination, or impertinence.

Chrysalis shifted, and groaned.  The thick basaltic slabs her sleeping chamber was crafted from kept all outside noise away, but they did nothing to block out the constant input of the Hive.  In spite of the fact that she damped her receptivity to the streams of information, she still maintained something of a loose connection.

She never felt entirely safe unless she could ensure no one was acting without her knowledge, and blessing.

The overqueen shifted once more, and hissed reflexively.

Her dreams had, for some years, been filled with a variety of odd images that she could not accurately source.  At first, she had done her best to excise the data, and embarked on a serious effort to stamp out its source.

Her investigation had come to naught, in terms of location the images' origin point.  It had, however, led her to a series of memories within the Hive that she had not previously known existed.  The memories had in turn led her to find, and seal, a major unforeseen hole in the Hive's defensive fortifications.

From that point on, Chrysalis had begun to treat the images as some sort of manifestation of her subconscious will within the Hive.  Invariably, they led her time and again to information she desired, but had previously thought the Hive lacked.

Recently she had held hopes that the trail might offer her some sort of explanation as to the sudden infectious case of rampant rebellion that had overtaken Razor Spires.

Upon taking up her bed, the monarch had abruptly been confronted with the same phantom form that always heralded the beginning of a new series of images and memories.

The figure dashed away into the mists of her mind, and as was her custom, Chrysalis followed as swiftly as her mental avatar could.

First, the phantom led her to an image she was already familiar with.  The instigator of the whole affair.  A troublesome Drone who had come to call herself 'IJ.'

The Mare's image made Chrysalis livid with rage, but she did her best to suppress the emotion and keep her thoughts fixed on her ephemeral guide.

Next, the sensory ghost led her to another familiar image.  The man the Humans insisted on referring to as 'Mr. Utah.'  Why the men and women of the HLF insisted on such twisted, ungainly monikers, Chrysalis still couldn't fathom.

There was much she failed to understand about Humanity, but one thing she did grasp with absolute certainty;  The Human Liberation Front was a means to an end.  They expected her to betray them, and she expected them to betray her.

It was merely a matter of who would gain the upper hoof first, and subsequently strike first.  The constant supply of captured Ponies the Front provided was an excellent supplement to dwindling emotional reserves, but it was nothing the Hive necessarily needed to survive as a whole.

Chrysalis had plans in motion to ensure that it would be of no consequence.  If the HLF had managed to succeed in killing Celestia and Luna, so much the better.  The thought did beg the question;  Why had Chrysalis heard no news of the planned attack's results?

As she mulled over the conundrum, the phantom brought her to the next image with almost uncanny timing.  As if it were providing an answer to her question.

Chrysalis watched in fascination as a deadly ballet of energies played out in the sky over Canterlot, ultimately culminating in the salvation of the city.  She shook herself, and paused to wonder what Drone had been foolish enough to observe such a vital event, but not mark the memory as a major priority.

The memory presented both good tidings, and bad.  It certainly seemed to Chrysalis as if the HLF had failed in at least part of its attack.  But at the same time, the overqueen knew that the display she had witnessed would have doubtless drained at least one of the Royal sisters to within an inch of death.

A net tactical victory, and a great potential opportunity.

The Phantom presented Chrysalis with a final image.  And abruptly, the Changeling monarch understood the point of the night's journey.

The image was, once more, of Mr. Utah.  Without having to listen to the sound directly, Chrysalis was able to instantly digest the words that had been spoken.

What truly brought the pieces of the puzzle together was the moment the Drone whose memory she was viewing turned to leave the room.  The Changeling in question passed before a reflective surface.  A portion of a polished structural support.

And Chrysalis finally understood.

Following the logic, or lack thereof in dreams, the monarch of the Changelings never stopped to question how the Drone maintained her distinctive form on Earth.  A place where even Chrysalis could not hold a simple transformative disguise for more than a half second.  She never stopped to question how the Drone had managed to travel to, and from, the planet without her knowledge.  

Either question would have instantly revealed the image for the falsification it so obviously was.

All Chrysalis knew, or thought she knew, was that IJ had met with Mr. Utah less than a month before she had become the erstwhile leader of the only major rebellion in Changeling history.  The facts fit too well in her emotional sensibilities for her more logical concerns to take hold.

The HLF wanted the chitin excretions her kind could provide.  They wanted the Changelings' infiltration skills.  They wanted military aid from within Equestria.

These were all goals a rogue Hive could accomplish just as well as any other.  The difference being that a rogue Hive might conceivably be easier to control for the HLF cabinet.

Chrysalis never stopped to think about the fact that IJ had been cut off from the Hive for three years.  That there was no conceivable explanation, no matter how far fetched, for the way in which she had a viewed a memory that by its very nature could never have existed.

And she certainly never stopped to question the smiling purple and navy unicorn apparition as it watched the remainder of her slumbering thoughts intently from afar.
> Chapter 34
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 24th, Gregorian Calendar

"Well I'm certainly glad you've done this before.  I think this kiosk was intentionally designed to give travelers grief."

Skye glowered at the tall plastic and steel cylinder, as if the force of her expression would cause the terminal to rip itself from the wall and begin a prostrate supplication for forgiveness.

Fyrenn nodded, and watched with a vague air of detachment as the kiosk obediently spat out six ticket stubs.  In most cases travelers simply checked in with biometric authentication, but the systems had not yet been adapted to the large scale arrival of Gryphons, or any other species short of Ponies.

The red Gryphon quickly distributed the small plastic tabs.  The objects felt unnaturally small to his talons, having been designed originally for Human hands.

He pointed to a series of turnstiles.  The large silver uprights were one of the newer reflections of Earth's burgeoning multi-species society, having been thoughtfully re-engineered to accommodate larger beings.

"Boarding is already in progress, so we shouldn't dawdle."

Kephic raised an eyebrow as he studied the turnstile.  Finally locating the appropriate slot for his ticket, he deposited the yellow square of material, and stepped gingerly through the burnished steel gateway.

"I confess, I've never ridden one of these larger trains before."

Neyla shook her head, and stared absently at a departures screen suspended from a pair of roof mounted cables.

"I've been looking forward to it for some time, I just never got around to trying it."

Carradan grinned, and began trotting off towards the platforms.

"It's nice if you book a good first class seat.  Even nicer when your employer is paying for the whole ride."

Fyrenn snorted, and followed the Pegasus through the access hall.

"Well I'm not your employer, but I did fork over a full berthing car.  I couldn't stand the idea of trying to cram all six of us into coach, even if they claim to have redesigned the seats.  Besides, I have to find *some* way to get rid of my bank balance."

Varan raised an eyebrow, quickening his pace slightly to come alongside Fyrenn as he spoke.

"Would it not be more prudent to retain some currency for unforeseen circumstances?"

Fyrenn shrugged, and repeated his snort.

"I hardly needed it while I was living here.  Much less now.  I think  it would be simpler if I just got rid of it all and closed up the account.  One less pointless thing to worry about."

Ignoring the surprised and concerned glances of his friends, Fyrenn took the lead.  The platform was mostly deserted, given that the train was the last morning departure, and nearly every passenger had already boarded.

A few larger families, and miscellaneous late arrivals, were still frantically attending to their luggage.

Otherwise, the vast expanse of beige duracrete was empty.  Fyrenn sized up the maglev as he approached.  He had always harbored a fondness for trains.  The express vehicle took on an almost romantic afterglow, as vaguely golden hued light filtered down through the station's tinted glass roof and struck the train's milky white paint coat.

Fyrenn counted off the cars silently, until he arrived at the one he had booked only minutes before.  

Normally it would have been inconceivable to arrive five minutes before departure and still find available berthing carriages.  But as with any large scale disaster, the Vancouver incident had produced rampant public paranoia.  Fyrenn could remember similar vacancies plaguing the transit industry for months, even years, after the appearance of the Barrier.

He gently pressed one talon to the softly glowing 'OPEN' button on the carriage door, and stood back as the portal lazily slid away into a recessed slit.

The red Gryphon smiled, and held out a claw in a welcoming fashion.

"After you."

The rest of the group filed into the cabin quietly.  As soon as everyone was aboard, Fyrenn pulled himself up into the carriage, and stepped from the companionway into the interior compartment.

Somehow, Carradan had already located the contents of the miniature bar and dining alcove, and was busy preparing a bowl of synthetic candies with total abandon.

Skye was in the process of claiming one of the cabin's seats.  Fyrenn noticed, with a wry smile, that it was the one closest to the most electrical and dataport outlets.

The other three Gryphons seemed preoccupied with examining the design of the space as a whole.  Fyrenn paused to join in their appreciative glances.

The room was carefully constructed to cater to the widest variety of biologies possible.  The seats were highly adjustable, and sumptuously appointed with the best in faux leather.  They could be reclined, rotated, and even moved several feet on a collection of hidden magnetic guideways in the floor.

One corner of the cabin was given over to the small bar-like counter top, refrigerator, microwave, and pantry that Stan had raided for nearly a quarter of its useful contents.

The remainder of the wall space was occupied by four reconfigurable beds, and a small collection of luggage cabinets.

As a three-toned notification trill emanated from hidden speakers in the ceiling, Fyrenn pressed two of the chairs nearest the right side window into a fully reclined configuration, and sprawled out over them.

Neyla, Varan, and Kephic carefully found comfortable positions on two of the beds, and another pair of chairs, as an automated warning softly played in distinctly artificial feminine tones.

"This train is ready to depart.  Please stand clear of the doors.  Amrail thanks you for your patronage.  Please enjoy your stay with us aboard this express maglev with service from Seattle to Manhattan calling at Las Vegas, Phoenix, Albuquerque, Austin, Raleigh, and Lynchburg."

Fyrenn rotated one ear to listen as the car's doors automatically hissed shut, their safety locks engaging with a distinctive clicking sound.

"The next stop will be in Las Vegas.  Estimated time to this station is one hour, twenty minutes.  Estimated time to terminus station;  Four hours, forty five minutes.  Please direct your attention to the nearest screen as we provide a brief safety instructional video.  Thank you for choosing Amrail."

Fyrenn shifted his ears and began to block out the incessant drone of the pre-recorded voice.  

As the train gently, noiselessly pulled away from the station, he fixed his eyes on the window, and his thoughts on his destination.





The sound of Minos' slow clap reverberated eerily through the open spaces of the warehouse.  The effect was compounded by the absolute silence of the building's other inhabitants.

"Boys and girls?  I must say...  I am impressed."

Minos spread both hands wide, striking an intentionally messianic pose as he smiled down on the huddled masses of children.

"No only did you accomplish that which I sent you forth to do...  But one and all, you returned alive and well.  Ready to fight another day.  Well done indeed.  You should be proud of yourselves."

The man crossed his arms, and paced silently back and forth at the head of the room for a moment.  Abruptly, he pivoted on one heel to face the assembly once more.

"Now, I want to make sure that you all understand what has, and has not changed with regards to your situation.  Fact: You have now been tested, and proven, in full-on operational combat conditions.  Fact: You remain property of this unit, and the government to which this unit belongs.  First conclusion: Training wheels and kiddie karts are a thing of the past."

Minos extended one finger, and began jabbing it at random children in turn.

"From now on, you will be expected to answer the call.  Anytime.  Anywhere.  Any mission we select.  You will carry it out without question, and you will complete it to our satisfaction.  Or you will not return alive.  Because returning from an incomplete mission will certainly result in use of the failsafe.  I'm sure we can all agree that it would be much easier for you to die on-task that be forced to suffer through that, yes?"

Minos cupped one hand to his right ear, and listened to the silence for a moment.

Then he nodded curtly.

"Good!  Furthermore;  We will no longer be housing you all within this fine city.  Its time has, regrettably, come, and we have more wide-reaching concerns now that your training is over.  So conclusion number two: You will all very shortly receive deployment orders.  No later than next week.  You are responsible for getting yourself to the specified destination, within the specified timeframe.  If you fail to check in on time, and on location?"

Minos shook his head and clucked regretfully under his breath, fiddling absently with his hardened DaTab.

The implication was clear, and he knew the children understood.  Mainly because the majority of them reflexively tensed whenever they saw the object.

"Final conclusion..."  Minor paused, and his artificially jovial gaze hardened into a stone-cold leer.

"If you think for even a moment that you have earned leniency, or reprieve, or some sort of rest period?  You are sorely mistaken."

His faux smile returned, and he tapped the side of his head slowly, accentuating the motion by rapping on the DaTab with his other index finger.

"Training has to be reinforced.  Knowledge and patterns of behavior have a tendency to slip when they are not consistently upheld.  And there will, believe you me, be no slips in this unit.  Count on that."

Minos turned, and waved one hand absently in the air, "I'll give you a generous two minutes of head start.  Then these fine gentlemen stationed at the exits will return to their usual docket of seeking out bad little boys and girls who stay still for too long...  And turning them into pincushions."

He paused, turned back to the silent children, and offered them a swift shooing motion with both hands.

"Go on now!  Scram!"

In the mass exodus that ensued, April and Sonya had to fight to stay together.  Ultimately, however, the tidal wave of young orphans thinned substantially, as each group of two peeled off in the direction that seemed to offer the best hiding spots in their estimation.

The sisters kept up a silent constant loping pace as they made their way south and west into a section of the island that had not yet been entirely evacuated.

Neither had to speak to share in the other's palpable relief.  They had, miraculously, broken a cardinal rule.  And they had gotten away with it.

Somehow, even the refracted light of the Equestrian sun, dulled by its round-about path around and between the hulking structures of the cityscape, seemed to smile on them.





Skye quietly nudged Neyla and pointed to Fyrenn with one hoof.  Keeping her voice low, she mentally braced herself, hoping that the red Gryphon would be too distracted by his thoughts to focus on her mumbled words.

"Has he moved *at all* in the last two and a half hours?"

Neyla shook her head slowly, her eyes fixed intently on the back of Fyrenn's head.

"Not an inch."

The Unicorn raised an eyebrow, and offered the Gryphoness a worried glance, her ears flattening and her muzzle drooping.

"This isn't like him.  I don't think I've ever seen him this way before..."

Skye glanced up at Neyla once more, and dropped the tone of her voice to a whisper.  Her eyes darted over to Carradan's snoring form nervously as she spoke.

"What *did* happen between you two during your time as sardines?"

Neyla sighed, and closed her eyes briefly.

"It may have a part to play in this...  But I promise you it doesn't entirely account for the way he's behaving.  I have to ask you to leave it at that for the moment.  For his sake and mine."

To Neyla's immense relief, Skye nodded quietly and didn't press her further on the issue.

The two stared out the window over Fyrenn's head for a long moment as they sifted through their thoughts and concerns.

The terrain had changed drastically since they had entered Nevada, and it had only become wilder, and more beautiful, as the train tore through the Arizona countryside.

The desert landscape was one of the few places on Earth that looked precisely as it might have before the Winnowing, with the exception of a few abandoned structures and highway stanchions dotted here and there between the buttes and canyons.

Further introspection was interrupted by a noticeable deceleration, and the sound of the automated announcement voice.

"This train is now arriving in Phoenix.  The central rail station offers convenient transfer to an extensive city bus network, an airport shuttle VTOL, and Valley Metro monorails.  Passengers making connections should confirm their designated platform by consulting an available kiosk."

By the time the announcement had concluded, the maglev had reached a complete stop in the station.  The doors opened, and a draft of surprisingly warm air flooded the cabin.

"This train will loiter here for five minutes to allow deboarding."

Fyrenn stretched, yawned, and slowly rose from his seat.  He calmly stepped towards the exit doors, and leapt gracefully down onto the platform.

Kephic came to the door, and offered him a perturbed expression.  Fyrenn shrugged, and stretched once more as he offered the barest possible explanation.

"This is my stop."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, and ruffled his wings in a reflexive expression of his concern and confusion.

"Why is this the first I've heard about it?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and waved a claw dismissively.

'I didn't want anyone to worry.  I just have a couple small things to attend to here.  Stuff I really ought to have gotten out of the way three years ago.  You know...  Leftovers from before I had wings."

Kephic's expression morphed gradually into a glare of reprimand, matched by his tone.

"You should have said something.  We could have planned to stop over with you."

Fyrenn smiled sadly, and shook his head again, more emphatically.

"It's probably better that I not hold you up.  There's nothing for any of you to see, or do here, and Hutch needs you as soon as possible.  Tell him he can expect to see me later tonight, or early tomorrow."

At first, it looked as if the speckled Gryphon would object more strenuously.  He traded a long glance with Varan, and then with one of the Ponies, whom Fyrenn could not see as a result of the height at which the car's windows were placed.

Surprisingly, however, Kephic at last nodded, and even smiled.

"Safe travels.  Don't stay too long."

Fyrenn nodded, and waved as the doors began to close once more.

"I don't plan to.  Keep the porch light on for me."

He kept his eyes fixed on the window of the carriage as the maglev pulled away, its speed increasing dramatically as the last car cleared the platform.

Fyrenn paused, turned, and was startled so badly that he let out a reflexive squawk.  Neyla grinned slightly, the expression dampened by an undercurrent of concern, and a touch of anger.

Fyrenn sighed, and closed his eyes in frustration.

"I thought we agreed I needed some space."

Neyla snorted, and flared her wings slightly.

"Yes.  And I seem to recall that in just about the same breath, we agreed that we were going to stop burying our emotional difficulties, and discuss them instead."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "This doesn't concern... 'Us.'  This concerns me."

Neyla rolled her eyes, and sighed, "Yes.  And therefore it concerns 'us.'  Did we not also agree that the things we do and say, or leave unsaid, affect us *both?*"

For a moment, Fyrenn simply blinked, his expression blank with the shock of having lost the argument so swiftly and simplistically.

Neyla's expression relaxed, and she pierced him with another of her painfully melancholy stares as she continued.

"We're worried about you Fyrenn.  You haven't been yourself today, or yesterday.  Something is bothering you, and you need to let one of us try to work through it with you."

Fyrenn chuckled wryly, "So you just decided it had to be you?"

The Gryphoness nodded sharply.

"Absolutely.  Kephic and Varan had the last three years to come to a better understanding of the way you work...  I did not.  As your friend, at the very least, I deserve some insight."

The red Gryphon sighed, and stared down at the individual granules in the platform's surface, counting the imperfections as he tried, and failed, to come up with a stinging reply.

He inhaled deeply, raised his head, and hooded his eyes in frustrated acquiescence.

"Fine.  Sure.  Absolutely wonderful.  Do you even know why we're here?"

The red Gryphon began to walk sedately towards the exit end of the station.  The platform was all but deserted, and it gave Neyla a good chance to admire the building's overall architectural grace.

The roof of the station was a pure white swoop of painted duracrete evocative of a clipper ship in motion.  The curvature pulled back into a tower-like central building that housed the terminal proper.

Neyla decided she liked the way the stark white of the shape contrasted the abundance of red dirt and sand that comprised the surrounding ground cover.

She forced herself back to the conversation, nodding quietly as her talons scraped against the concrete with a peculiar scratching noise.

"You once mentioned that this is where you were raised when you were younger."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow as he reached the end of the platform.

"You remember that?"

Neyla nodded emphatically, "Naturally.  Most people are keen to talk about where they grew up, and the experiences they had.  You barely breathed a word about it.  When someone is that guarded, it means have many emotions tied up in their history."

Fyrenn snorted, and spread his wings, pausing as the familiar breeze caressed his body in a new and surprising way.  The last time he had felt the familiar pressure, temperature, and olfactory idiosyncrasies of Phoenix, he had been a Human child.

He spoke quietly as he raised the only counterpoint he could think to offer.

"So.  What does that say about *you*?"

Neyla nodded, "I am aware.  'Guilty as charged' as the Humans say.  So I promise that if you let me understand your childhood, I will help you understand mine, one day soon."

Fyrenn tilted his head, and tried for an expression mid way between a wry grin, and a friendly glower.

"You're baiting me with curiosity.  That's not fair."

Neyla smirked slightly.

"You jumped off the train and didn't plan to tell anyone.  'One good turn deserves another.' "

Fyrenn sighed, and nodded slowly.

"Right then.  Come on."





For upwards of half an hour, the two Gryphons simply flew silently above the desert city.  Fyrenn allowed Neyla to take in the unique environment for the first time, while he became re-acquainted with the layout of the metropolis, as well as the changes that had taken place in intervening years.

Seeing the familiar sights put a pang in his chest that was immensely difficult to categorize.  It was not pure sorrow by any means, nor simple nostalgic joy.  It was some peculiar combination;  The unique feeling of visiting a place one had called home for so long, but that one knew they could never truly return to permanently.  

And that one knew they would never truly want to return to permanently.

At last, the pair came to rest on the top of the city's tallest Skyscraper.  The building was a rectangular prism three hundred stories tall, capped in a marble pyramid.

Neyla smiled as she scanned the horizon.

"It is a beautiful place.  One of the few on Earth that still feels very natural.  I imagine it was nice to grow up in a relatively smaller city?"

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and inhaled deeply as a gust of wind swept the top of the tower, ruffling the feathers of his head into a rugged mess.

"There were advantages and disadvantages, but overall I loved it.  I wouldn't change it if I could."

Neyla tilted her head, and spent a long silent moment evaluating Fyrenn's expression.

She switched the angle of her cant to the left side, and spoke with a genuine air of confusion.

"It sounds to me like you remember aspects of your childhood quite fondly.  Why separate yourself so actively from it?"

Fyrenn blinked several times, and thought carefully about his response.  His gaze remained locked firmly on the horizon.

"I think I dreaded facing the separation.  I didn't know my parents for that long a period, but I do remember I loved them very much, and they loved me.  My grandmother raised me, and I loved her deeply as well.  I loved life here.  I was optimistic, and prepared for my dream career..."

Neyla nodded slowly, "And then it all fell apart somewhere in between then, and when we met?"

Fyrenn sighed, and hung his head, reveling in the comforting feeling of the breeze as it toyed with his ears.

"Grandmother died, then I lost my eyes and with it the path to the pilot's seat.  More importantly, I lost my closest friend.  I think, in the end, it's about the loneliness.  I didn't want to remember how happy I had been, because I was so lonely after that.  Then when that went away at last?  When I met you, and Kephic and Varan...  I didn't want to remember the loneliness anymore."

Neyla sighed, and returned her own gaze to the horizon.  Fyrenn glanced up at her as she spoke, trying and failing to suppress the inescapable observation that she was an extremely beautiful creature.

"You finally decided it was time to separate these two eras of your past?"

Fyrenn nodded, and glanced down at the street below, smiling as he focused in on details as small as the pixels on people's DaTabs.

"It's like I told Skye and Stan...  I think that maybe it's time for me to move on in a more permanent fashion.  This may well be one of my last visits to Earth.  If not *the* last.  I've realized that I have hundreds of years of life to get started.  I don't want to waste any of it living so close to the graves of my nightmares."

Neyla smiled forlornly.

"But you want to carry the good things with you."

Fyrenn returned the sad smile.

"Yes.  Yes I do."
> Chapter 35
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 24th, Gregorian Calendar

"April?"

A moment passed, and Sonya repeated her query with more force.

"*April!*"

The younger girl shifted in surprise, and sheepishly brushed away a lock of her hair, looking down at her sister as her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

"Sorry!  Sorry!  I was just..."

Sonya rolled her eyes, and gestured forcefully to the pavement beside her.

"You were just lost in another world again.  Come on.  We've been here five minutes too long already."

April sighed, and leapt from the top of the fire escape.  The six stories passed in an increasingly elongated blur, and she momentarily found herself reflexively slowing, her telekinetic amp humming quietly, before alighting gracefully in the alley alongside her sibling.

As the two girls set off at a comfortably paced run, April glanced up at Sonya and pursed her lips.

"Do you think we could learn to fly with our spikes?"

Sonya snorted, and shook her head emphatically, her hair bobbing wildly around her ears as she pulled a sharp turn onto a deserted sidewalk.

"Of course not.  Think about what kind of work it takes to lift heavier masses, or throw them.  Now try to imagine doing that every second for even a minute, while still maintaining precise control."

April frowned, and returned her gaze to the pavement sullenly.

"Oh."

Sonya sighed, and steeled herself as she indulged her curiosity.

"Why the sudden obsession with flight anyhow?  You've spent half of the last hour looking up at the sky like you wished you lived there."

April smiled slightly, and took a flying leap over a dumpster that threatened to block her path.

"I...  Guess I do.  The Gryphons look like they're so...  Free up there..."

Sonya winced, and weaved to avoid an oddly placed stone buttress.

"This again?"

April frowned, and glared, nearly missing her cue to duck, and avoid a poorly hung steel pipe.

"Look at them Sonya!  They aren't prisoners of anyone.  Not even *gravity.*  They're not like the Ponies either.  They can *fight!*  How could you not dream about being what they are?"

Sonya sighed once more, and her expression softened.  She slowed her pace slightly, and glanced down at her sister with a sad half-smile.

"I do dream about it too...  But I guess I've just learned not to hope the same way you do.  All I can ever think when I try to imagine being one of them is to worry whether or not they're everything they seem to be."

April shook her head, and returned the smile wit an equal measure of melancholy.

"Sonya!  You have to have a little faith."

Sonya barked out a harsh laugh, and quickened her pace once more, darting around a broken storm grate, and into an immense street-level drainage pipe.

"I can't afford faith sis.  I work based on one thing and one thing only.  Survival instinct."

April frowned again, and offered her sibling a concerned glance.

"But Sonya...  The whole point is to get away from this kind of life?  Isn't it?  At some point, don't you have to have faith in something?"

Silence reigned, punctuated only by the slap-slap-slap of the sisters' disheveled footwear against the standing puddles of water in the tunnel.  Sonya had no answer.





Just when Neyla began to wonder if Fyrenn had spent his childhood living out of a cave in the mountains, the Gryphons at last arrived at their destination.

As Fyrenn alit upon the red sand of the front yard, Neyla appraised the house carefully.  It was a simple wooden two-story dwelling that looked as if it were close to two hundred years old.  Adjoining the main structure was an empty garage.

The only thing that seemed out of place was a small mobile storage container, parked directly in the front drive.

Fyrenn gestured to the shipping container, and nodded.

"When I went in for service, I had most of my things from college and the academy boxed up and put into storage."

Neyla raised an eyebrow and gestured to the house.

"You never sold it?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and stared forlornly up at the peak of the roof.

"Couldn't.  This area fell apart after the Phoenix Conversion Riots.  Almost everyone buying in the market these days wants to live closer to city center.  So it just kind of...  Sat."

Neyla slowly made her way across the yard to stand beside her friend.

"Well, it's beautiful.  And in remarkable condition too for a structure so old."

Fyrenn chuckled briefly.

"Yeaaaah well, it's been refurbished several dozen times over the centuries.  It would probably qualify as one of the oldest buildings in the city, actually.  It certainly beat living in a flat."

The red Gryphon turned away from the house, and made his way quietly to the front of the shipping container.  With a deft series of strokes, he entered the key combination from memory, and the door clanked, and swung open.

Fyrenn stepped gingerly into the container, and Neyla followed as closely as she dared.

Once inside, she paused and blinked rapidly, carefully taking in the array of objects that confronted her.

The center of the container was free of clutter;  A pathway of sorts.  There were several dozen sealed storage crates, ten upright cabinets with clear glass doors, and a desk physically bolted to the floor.

Neyla found that the most interesting sights, initially, were held by the glass cases.

As Fyrenn began to peruse the desk, she carefully examined the contents of the structures in turn.  The first contained something she recognized as a Cadet's daily-use uniform.  It was an all black jacket and pants, with blue piping on the legs of the latter, and the collar of the former.

A series of awards studded the left breast, and a pair of crossed swords adorned the left collar tab, along with a collection of rank bars.

"This was yours?"

Fyrenn glanced up, paused, and nodded.

"I didn't go to college in the traditional sense.  I knew I wanted to be a pilot, so I went to an attached military tactics program.  The idea was that I would go from there straight into a basic officer position, do my time in whatever branch they plopped me in, and from there transfer to aviation basic."

Neyla stared back at the uniform and sighed.

"And when you lost your eyes...  That was in the process of serving your mandatory time in the branch they assigned you?"

Fyrenn's voice fell as he pried open another drawer.

"Yes."

Neyla allowed the conversation to lapse momentarily as she examined the next item in the case.  A black and red graduation robe.  She stepped slowly, and carefully, to the next upright cabinet.  

It was full of weapons.  Two military standard issue assault carbines, a rail-snipe, and a dozen small laser pistols and rail pistols of various description.

"These are all yours?"

Fyrenn chuckled as he leafed through a sheaf of old-style papers in a folder.

"Of course.  You are talking to someone who, literally, majored in the art of war.  Weapons, tactics, history...  I lived and breathed this stuff practically since I was old enough to understand the idea of a tank, or a plane."

Neyla smiled briefly, and turned to face the opposing row of cabinets.  She was confronted with a fully assembled military grade flight suit, complete with hardened light armor panels and a full helmet.

"I thought you said you never flew..."

Fyrenn looked up, and sighed, his beak twisting into a sad smile.

"That was Dad's.  He flew mostly F-25Rs, with a few stints behind the stick of an E-9C electronic warfare jet."

Neyla closed her eyes, and shook her head.

"The latter I am familiar with, but I have to confess that I have never seen an F-25R."

Fyrenn moved to stand beside the Gryphoness, and stared lovingly at the flight suit.

"The Morningstar was a sort of spiritual predecessor to the Scythe.  They were almost all two-seaters actually.  I used to think of Dad's RIO as a sort of adopted uncle.  He died in the same accident they did.  It was stupid actually.  Really really stupid."

Neyla didn't press the issue, but to her surprise, Fyrenn pressed on as he returned to the desk.

"Mom went out on what they called a 'Tiger Cruise,' to visit Dad on the carrier.  At the end, she, Dad, and my Uncle were supposed to come home together on the daily transport."

Fyrenn glared down at a stubborn drawer that refused to open.  As he continued to speak, he applied increasing force to the handle, "They, and fifteen other crew and their spouses, all died when the transport pilot made a 'critical error.'  He had been juicing on something nasty, and his judgement was all over the place.  He set the flaps wrong, the catapult went off, the plane went up..."

At last, the Gryphon's emotions overpowered his control.  He ripped the drawer directly from the structure of the desk with a startling 'BANG!'

"...And then the plane went down.  At full throttle.  Right into the sea.  They couldn't even recover enough pieces of bodies to bury anything but empty coffins."

He paused, and glanced up at Neyla, the remains of the drawer dangling from his left claw.

"I was six years old."

Neyla stared, trying to process the influx of empathetic emotions as Fyrenn turned back to the desk, and began sifting through what was left of the drawer he had extracted so forcefully.  She spoke slowly, doing her best to avoid allowing too much emotion into her own words.

"Mother died when I was twenty one.  There was a fairly large battle between my family, along with a few other Sentinels, and a nest of fully grown Hydra.  Father perished only a short while later in a battle I was not even party to.  He had something of a reputation, and many families offered to take me in after that."

Fyrenn finished with the desk, rose, and moved to the first locked crate.  As he effortlessly hefted the object down to the desk's surface, he raised an eyebrow.

"You didn't accept?"

Neyla shook her head, and chuckled.

"Call me stubborn---"

Fyrenn nodded emphatically, interjecting sharply. 

"You're stubborn."

Neyla laughed outright, and shook her head, smiling.

"Well as a result of that, I refused to accept the idea of becoming part of someone else's clan.  I have always had a strong rule;  Either I will never be part of a clan, or I will see my own resurrected, and sit as its matriarch."

Fyrenn carefully unsealed the crate, and deposited the lid against the wall.

"I can understand that.  You feel a tie to the history of your family name, and you refuse to let that history end as part of someone else's gains.  And more than that, you have dreams you could only accomplish with a clan under your guidance."

Neyla smiled, and worked her way over to the desk.

"You remember all that?  The time I explained it to you?"

Fyrenn nodded, and grinned.

"Every last word.  It struck a chord with me in every measurable sense."

He glanced down into the crate, and cracked a wry face.

"Christmas decorations.  Rusty Christmas decorations."

The red Gryphon swiftly resealed the crate, and exchanged it for another.

He opened the lid cautiously, then slammed it back down abruptly.

"Ooooh no.  No no no.  Absolutely not."

Neyla deftly snagged the container, and tossed the lid to the side forcefully.  As Fyrenn struggled to regain control of the object, her claws came away with a large dusty black book.

She thumbed the pages open as Fyrenn groaned.

"Aaaah!  So this is the fabled 'yearbook' of which so many of my squadmates spoke."

Fyrenn nodded, and held out an open claw.

"Please give that back.  My college pictures are...  Embarrassing."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and tightened her grip on the book, silently continuing to flick through the pages, until she arrived at Fyrenn's old name.  Isaac Wrenn.

"So this was you as a Human?"

Fyrenn winced, "As a much younger Human, yes.  Scrawny, thin, and wild-eyed."

The Gryphoness thrummed appreciatively, and finally returned the book.

"As Humans go, you weren't so bad.  I can't fathom why you were never approached by interested potential spouses."

Fyrenn snorted, and carefully repacked the crate before stacking it beside the Christmas decorations.

"Oh I was.  Repeatedly.  But I made it painfully obvious that I was married to war, and only war."

Neyla chuckled grimly, and stretched one wing absently.

"Why?  Not that I'm ungrateful...  But in my experience, Humans of that age are driven heavily by impulses of body and emotion."

Fyrenn shook his head, and removed the next crate in line.

"Not me.  Other Humans might have a...  Strong attraction to the birds-n-bees stuff...  It always grossed me out more than I could describe.  Scared me too.  I didn't want to end up like all those other puppy-love-sick morons."

Neyla inclined her head, "I can understand that.  But surely some of those seeking after you were interested in more than mere vapid physical things?"

Fyrenn sighed, and stared away into the middle distance as he slowly unsealed the next crate.

"By that time?  Rob had already met Veritas.  She rubbed me the wrong way in *every* way, and that put me well off my tea as far as romance was concerned.  I suppose Gilchrist was a bad example to introduce me to formative romantic relationship stages...  But for a long time it was all I had."

He began sifting through the crates contents absently as he continued.  Neyla glanced over his shoulder, and realized they were books.  Mostly cookbooks.

"My parents, and my Grandmother's stories about her husband...  They showed me what a functional adult relationship was supposed to look like.  That was all well and good, and none of that bothered me one whit.  But I never got much chance to watch people go through the formative stages of love in a healthy way.  It left me with a rather crippled sense of the process."

Neyla nodded, and gestured towards the books, sensing that she needed to inject some lighter material into the conversation's flow, for Fyrenn's sake.

"Were those your mother's?"

Fyrenn grinned widely, and nodded.

"Oh yes.  She was the best cook in the world.  The things she could do, even with meager synthetic drivel...  Apparently she learned from her mother, who learned from her mother, going back quite a ways.  I wish I had time to memorize them all, but I'm not much good with cookware anyhow."

To the red Gryphon's surprise, Neyla carefully reached out, and snagged the entire crate, carrying it carefully to the entrance of the container, re-sealing it, and setting it in the drive.

As she re-entered, Fyrenn pierced her eyes with a curious gaze.

She smiled, and nodded.

"In fairness, I will make you another deal.  You show me the inside of the house too, and I promise I will memorize every single word of those cookbooks before we leave for Equestria again.  We can try to work some of the recipes out together."

Fyrenn paused, then smiled as he hefted another crate.

"I think that's a workable arrangement."





Fully sorting the contents of the container took the better part of two hours.  Neyla found Fyrenn's squirt-gun collection highly amusing, and reveled in the chance to skim his choice of novels and reference books as he completed the sorting process.

As the pair finally disembarked from the pod, the Gryphoness shot her friend a query in the form of words, and a curious expression.

"What will you do with all of that?  It's not as if it can come with you."

Fyrenn nodded, and glanced up at the sky as a rumble of thunder rolled in from the distance.

"I know.  I certainly don't intend to throw it away if that's what you mean.  If I have to get rid of things that matter... Sentimental things...  I prefer that they find a good home and good use in someone else's claws, or hooves, or hands."

Neyla retained her intrigued expression, so Fyrenn continued as he shifted the crate of cookbooks to the front porch of the house, and resealed the shipping container.

"I will send the flight suit and uniforms to a museum.  The Christmas decorations are, I'm afraid, a loss.  Too old and rusted.  Most of the books can go to libraries, where they will hopefully aid in transcription efforts for the archive project.  The weapons belong on a military base.  The papers and miscellaneous things don't really matter at all.  The squirt guns should find a good home at the nearest preschool."

Neyla nodded firmly, and smiled.

"That sounds like an admirable plan."

Fyrenn sighed, and gestured to the front door of the structure.

"So.  Welcome to my childhood.  Please tread lightly, and pardon the dust."

He typed a series of numbers into the locking mechanism on the door knob, then turned the whole apparatus, and pushed.

At first, Neyla was disappointed.  Most everything within the foyer, living room, dining room, and kitchen were hidden under dust cloths.  Fyrenn began to yank the white sheets away with abandon, however, so the Gryphoness took it as license to embark on a miniature adventure of discovery.

As she carefully removed the cover from the entrance hall table, she smiled widely.  Tucked in between a bowl for keys, and a small clock whose batteries had long since expired, was a photo in an old style wooden circular frame.

The younger man on the right was obviously Fyrenn.  The older woman on the left was smiling widely as well, embracing the younger man with one arm.

Neyla raised her voice to make sure she was heard.

"This is your grandmother?"

Fyrenn called out from the living room as he continued to tear off dust sheets.

"Yes!  She was one whole half of the reason I turned out alright.  Mom and Dad laid down the best foundation a kid could ask for; Grandma made sure I didn't destroy it in my fear, and rage, and sorrow."

Neyla caressed the photo momentarily, before reverently laying it back on the table. She swept the dust off as carefully as she could with one wing.

"She sounds wonderful."

Fyrenn chuckled.

"She was.  She could cook almost as well as Mom, and she was just as tender and wise.  She knew how to be firm too though.  Church every Sunday morning, ten AM sharp, or I didn't leave the house for a week for anything but school.  If I put a *toe* out of line, I got the belt something awful.  And for that I'm immensely grateful."

Neyla slowly made her way into the living room, taking a moment to smile inwardly at the image of a great red Gryphon trying to set right furniture made for a Human a quarter his size.

As soon as he was satisfied that he had checked everything, Fyrenn moved towards the stairs, beckoning.

"Watch your head at the landing."

Neyla nodded, and found that she did indeed have to duck, even in quadrupedal stance, to make it to the second floor.

Fyrenn pointed to the door at the end.

"My room.  All the way from age six, to age eighteen.  Promise me you won't laugh.  Please?"

Neyla shook her head emphatically.

"I wouldn't dare."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, but obligingly moved forward, and pushed the door open.  Neyla followed him into the darkness, stopping dead still as the lights flicked on.

For a moment she stood in total silence.  Then she sat back on her haunches, and gasped quietly.  As she attempted to make sense of what she was seeing, Fyrenn brushed passed the dresser, reflexively flicking the switch on some sort of small music player, as he must have done thousands and thousands of times before.

As sound and words began to issue forth at a low, but still audible volume, Neyla swept the room once more with her eyes.

The vast majority of the walls, and ceiling, were painted to look like a cloudless night sky.  Pinpricks of starlight hovered in the inky void, projected by an unseen holographic device doubtless tucked into the light fixture.

From the ceiling itself an incredible array of craft hung on invisible wires.  Everything from ancient propeller planes and zeppelins, to starships that seemed to have sprung at lightspeed from the pages of some incredible flight of fancy.

It took Neyla several moments to completely take in the sight, before her eyes shifted to the furniture.  There was a bed, made up with basic sheets and a pillow, a bedside dresser, a closet, a set of bureaus, and a desk with a chair.

The dresser held a small clock, and a series of model ships.  The line started with a trireme, and a sailing galleon not dissimilar to Equestrian vessels, and ended with a modern Battleship.  In  between were older carriers and battleships, and some sort of oddly shaped lozenge of a boat that looked to have been clad in pure iron plates.

On the desk sat an aging computer box, keyboard, mouse, and touchscreen.  Beside it were a series of notebooks, and sheafs upon sheafs of loose blue hued paper with white lines on them.

After Neyla managed to take in a complete image of the space, she stepped slowly to the desk, and began leafing through the blueprints and notebooks.

Her beak slowly fell open into an unashamed gape.

"These are yours?"

Fyrenn nodded, blushing furiously beneath his feathers.

"Yeah.  Not much, I know.  But it was a good pastime to keep my head off the bad things, and firmly ensconced in the clouds.  It drove my primary school teachers nuts too.  I would always finish my assignments early, and get right to doodling."

Neyla shook her head slowly, and turned over an unusually large blueprint that seemed to spell out a deck plan for some type of interstellar ship.

"These are anything but 'doodles.'  These are astonishingly detailed, and quite beautiful."

Fyrenn snorted, "Yeah, and most aren't very practical."

Neyla grunted, and began flicking slowly through a notebook.

"I disagree.  Some of your fire-arms look quite tenable, as do your lighter-than-air craft."

She paused, and shook her head in disbelief.  Fyrenn stepped over, and glanced at the page.  He smiled widely.

"I had *no* idea when I drew that...  None at all."

Adorning the page was a somewhat stilted, but still fairly well proportioned sketch of a Gryphon in flight, the clouds parting around him as the sun shone down on his wings.

Neyla looked up and smiled.

"You see?  Some of your fanciful things came true."

Fyrenn nodded, "The most important one by far, in any case."

Neyla flicked carefully through the remainder of the notebook, then set it down as Fyrenn shoved the desk chair to the side.  He took up repose on his haunches, and carefully made an attempt to boot the computer.

The device sprang to life with a soft series of whirs, and the screen blinked momentarily, before switching to a loading graphic.

As the device came awake, Neyla reached up and gently removed one of the ceiling mounted aircraft from its string.

"This is intriguing..."

Fyrenn glanced back momentarily, and nodded.

"Messerschmitt BF 109 G.  A Nazi machine, yes, but also an incredible work of military art.  German engineering at its finest.  Fearfully powerful for its time."

Neyla pointed up to the ceiling as a whole, gesturing to encompass the bevy of flying machines.

"You can name all of these?"

Fyrenn nodded without turning away from the screen.

"Sure.  Even the fictional ones."

The Gryphoness glanced back at the dresser.

"What about the ships?"

Without even turning, Fyrenn began to rattle off the names.

"Greek Trireme, Spanish Galleon, British Man 'O War, Atlantic Clipper, Confederate Ironclad, British Dreadnaught, American Essex class Carrier, German Bismarck, Russian Golf-II Ballistic Missile Submarine, American North Carolina Class Battleship, British Queen Elizabeth Class Carrier, American Arleigh Burke Flight-Three Missile Destroyer, American Los Angeles class Submarine, Earthgov Illinois Class Destroyer, Earthgov Wake Island Class Battleship."

Neyla shook her head and exhaled slowly.

"And I have a sneaking suspicion you know almost everything there is to know about them all.  All those ships, all those flying machines..."

She turned and watched as Fyrenn attacked the keyboard with gusto.

"What are you doing now?"

Fyrenn peered at the screen, and continued tapping at the keys at an incredible rate.

"I scanned most of my designs at one stage or another, and even modeled a fair few.  I figured I would compress it all, and upload into an encrypted online storage locker.  With any luck, if the HAP people manage to achieve the goal of 'copying the internet,' I can go back and retrieve them on the other side."

Neyla cracked a radiant smile.  Fyrenn paused and drank in the pure joy.

At last, he broke the silence with a chuckle.

"What?"

The Gryphoness shook her head slowly.

"I think you were destined to be one of us from the moment you drew your first breath.  All of this...  I want to thank you for showing me.  I believe I may have learned more about you from the contents of this room than I could have from a month of soul-searching."

Neyla paused to catch the tail end of the song on the music device, before it faded away.  She reached over and snatched up the small touchscreen DaTab, and the speaker stand it had been mounted on.

"If you don't mind, I'll peruse this."

Fyrenn glowered good naturedly, and switched off the computer after completing his task.

"You leave no stone unturned, do you?"

Neyla shook her head slowly.

Fyrenn chuckled as he moved to switch off the lights.

"Well expect me to ply you stringently with questions too from now on.  I refuse to let you have such an advantage over me for long.  And don't think I'll be reserved either."

Neyla nodded her acquiescence.

As the pair prepared to leave, Neyla turned, and paused.

"What about that one?"

Fyrenn glanced over his shoulder, and squinted.

"What one?"

Neyla set down the music player, and darted across to the window sill.  From behind the curtain, she pulled a small painted wooden object, and held it up to the light.

Fyrenn inhaled sharply, and clapped a claw to his beak.

It took him a moment to find his words again.

"That..."

He crossed the room and reverently, lovingly took the model aircraft from Neyla's claws.

"I thought grandmother had mis-laid that years and years ago..."

Neyla smiled down at the small, twin-tailed, twin engine vehicle.

"It has an important story, I gather?"

Fyrenn nodded mutely.  Neyla realized that tears were forming at the edges of his eyes.  At last, he spoke.

"My father... *Made* this for me.  Hand crafted it from scratch.  For my fourth birthday.  I used to run through the house like a screaming banshee pretending I was a world war two ace...  It was always my favorite."

Neyla sat back on her haunches, and gestured for Fyrenn to do the same.

"Tell me about it."

Fyrenn nodded, and sat, staring down at the little silver craft, and inhaling deeply.

"It's called a P-38 Lightning.  When Humanity fought the second great World War, it was the most successful allied aircraft by a long measure.  It had amazing range, good stability, devastating armaments...  It was used in a secret and very dangerous mission to kill the man who orchestrated the first attack against the US in the war."

Neyla opened her claw once more, and Fyrenn gently laid the aircraft in it.  She held it up, and allowed her eyes to follow its graceful curves.

"It is very beautiful.  I can see why it was your favorite."

Fyrenn smiled, and wiped away his tears.

"Thank you for spotting it.  I'd never imagined I would see it again...  But it was certainly the main thing I had hoped to find."

The red Gryphon accepted the airplane back from his companion, and rose as she again took hold of the music player.

She cocked her head slightly as they exited the room.

"Did you get what you hoped for out of this?"

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded.

"And so much more.  Did you?"

Neyla inclined her head.

"You have no idea."
> Chapter 36
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 24th, Gregorian Calendar

Mr. Utah sighed, mostly out of exhaustion, as he finally came to rest in his familiar high backed desk chair.

Reaffirming his place in the cabinet had been the easy part.  His company was one of the HLF's most important assets.  That value had only increased as a result of the Front's staggering losses in military hardware.

The exhausting and trying phase of the session had begun in earnest when it came time to elect Mr. Stalin's replacement.  Only two members of the cabinet had failed to prove themselves useful to the cause, so the competition had been thick and furious.

Mr. Utah leaned back, and stared out over his expansive Cherrywood desk.  His office was a study in the 'old world.'  Not so much because the man had an affinity for history, but because the atmosphere allowed him to enhance his air of authority, affluence, and intimidation.

Everything about the room mirrored the desk;  Dark wood tones, brass and granite trim, and low directionless lighting.

Mr. Utah slowly extracted one of his cigarettes, placed the cylindrical object in his mouth, and paused to the savor the moment.  From day one, his goal had always been the purest expression of ambition.  Wherever he went, he had but one objective.  Seek and acquire power.

The previous afternoon had been, perhaps, his greatest victory so far.  Mr. Utah permitted himself a rare smile as he thumbed his lighter.

The cabinet had wanted to reassign his codename, but in some peculiar sense Mr. Utah had grown attached to his long-standing moniker.  Begrudgingly, Mr. Churchill had allowed him to eschew the recommended 'Mr. Rommel,' in favor of retaining his previously given pseudonym.

Everyone had admitted that, at the very least, it would make things simpler for all.

As he inhaled a waft of nicotine-laced smoke into his lungs, he spun his chair slowly and spent a moment taking in the view from his window.

As the city lights glistened off his pupils, his smile widened ever so slightly.

'Second in command of the Human Liberation Front.'

Mr. Utah decided he liked the title very much indeed.





Fyrenn sighed as the lift doors opened onto an intimately familiar sight.  After hours of quiet conversation, silence, and even fitful sleep on the train, it was rejuvenating to arrive somewhere familiar.

The Manhattan Conversion Bureau was already a welcome host to good memories in and of itself, but somehow the specific corridor in question felt like a home away from home.

"That was thoughtful of them.  I assumed they would just drop us somewhere random."

Neyla shook her head as she disembarked onto the beige carpet of the hall.

"I have no doubt Hutch, or Aston, had something to do with this."

Fyrenn smiled as he slowly perused the familiar lines of the corridor.  He knew the layout so well, he could have almost certainly walked it blindfolded.  

The space had originally been used for offices.  At the time he had gone in for his Conversion, it had been co-opted for impromptu quarters to host Kephic, Varan, Sildinar, and himself.

While a dedicated wing for Gryphons had been under construction at the time, it had by no means been in any sort of usable state.  In spite of the fact that those rooms and hallways were now likely finished, it seemed that someone had preserved the living-space configuration of the old offices.

Fyrenn shook his head, grinning, as he noticed that even the electronic nameplates on the doors still reflected their previous occupants.  The space was almost exactly as it had been the day after his Conversion.

The only major difference seemed to be that a previously empty room across from his had been unlocked and prepared for Neyla.

Fyrenn gestured to his door, and spoke, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the sleeping occupants of the other dormitories.

"Well...  Goodnight then.  I suspect tomorrow will be very very busy indeed."

Neyla nodded, and let herself into her room, not even stopping to put a code on the locking mechanism.

"I will see you at breakfast."

Fyrenn shut his door gently, and paused only to deposit his one small item of luggage on the desk, before collapsing onto the bed.

The room had changed slightly since the last time he had been present.  The alterations mainly consisted of the removal of Human furniture.  The objects had been replaced with chairs, stools, and a bed shaped carefully to Gryphic specifications.

The latter object was a large, round surface of mattress, covered in loose pillows.

Fyrenn quickly reshaped the plush objects into an impromptu nest, before swiftly drifting away into blissfully comfortable sleep, his silhouette backlit by the haze of New York's myriad lights shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

As his eyes finally closed, the image of the little wooden P-38 on the desk stuck firmly in his mind.

He smiled reflexively.





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Fifth  Day, Celestial Calendar

Luna tensed as the doors to her chambers let out a resounding series of urgent thuds.

A combination of overwhelming exhaustion, and instinctual fear, left her unable to discern the source of the noise for several moments.

She blinked rapidly, and rolled from her bed to a standing position on the floor.  The shock of the cool marble against her hooves brought her fully into the waking world.

Luna squinted at the tiny crack of light between the nearest set of drapes, and concluded she had been asleep for only a few hours.

Restoring the normal cycle of the sun and moon had been a taxing exercise in her drained state.  In spite of the interim time, the Alicorn felt as if she were still tied to lead weights.  Most of the hours had been spent sleeping or trying to delegate tasks to free up more time to sleep.

She knew it would likely be months before she was fully recuperated.

As the knocking intensified, Luna shrugged on her regalia as quickly as she could, eschewing the more convenient use of magic, in favor of conserving energy.

Finally, the monarch crossed the intervening space to the door, inhaled deeply, and twisted the latch.

The moment she saw the guard's muzzle, she knew she would be getting no more rest for the duration of the day.

The stallion's mane was a tangled, sweaty mess.  Portions of his armor were outright missing, doubtless having been shed in the interest of speed.  His breathing was so heavy, Luna feared for his safety.

Nonetheless, he managed to force out four words.  His knees buckled as he wheezed, and dipped his head.

"I have grave news."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 25th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, and exhaled sharply in surprise.

From his perch inside a glass lift, he had an excellent view of the Manhattan Bureau lobby.  Much of the multi-story space was filled with lines of people, crowding to reach the front desk in a timely fashion.

The red Gryphon sighed, and continued shaking his head.  He found it baffling that so many people lacked the foresight to make their choice well ahead of the Barrier's advent.

As he exited the lift, and set about making his way to the cafeteria without crushing anyone's feet, he privately wondered how Conversion would affect the societal trend of apathy.

In Fyrenn's opinion it was not a characteristic that Humans wore well.  He preferred to think that the natural state of the Human spirit was one of supreme adaptability and drive towards self-improvement.

The cafeteria was packed to the brim.  Everyone from ConSec troopers in full body armor, to auxiliary Bureau staff, evacuation workers, and even an entire JRSF platoon.

Fyrenn's eyes quickly settled on his companions.  Much to his relief, they had managed to secure a set of tables, and had saved him an open spot.

His beak turned up in an enormous grin as he sidled over to the group, the majority of the crowd parting reflexively for his intimidating relative bulk.

"This looks pleasantly familiar."

Neyla nodded, and tapped the tray beside her.

"Stan tells me this sort of group breakfast used to be a regular occurrence."

In the absence of a chair, Fyrenn simply planted himself firmly on his haunches.  He smirked at Carradan as he speared his first piece of synth meat.

"What did you have to do to keep his hooves off my tray this long?"

Without looking up from his coffee carafe, Varan replied in a two-word monotone.

"Death threats."

Fyrenn shrugged, and tore off a large chunk of bread.

"Oh.  Par for the course then."

As he chewed thoughtfully, he glanced up at Skye, then Kephic, and finally the room at large.  He swiveled both ears lazily, first taking in the controlled din, then trying to shut it out.

He sighed, and tried a sip of the coffee.  Somehow, the kitchen had managed to take good Equestrian beans, and butcher them into something resembling dust run through a sock with seawater.

"Not quite like I remember it.  For one thing it was never this crowded this early...  And I do miss Hutch."

Kephic nodded, and held up a claw.

"Speaking of which, we have already been to see him, and he has split us up to act as coordinators on his behalf amongst a variety of...  'Wonderful' tasks.  He wants you and Neyla to drop by as soon as you're finished here."

Fyrenn nodded, and polished off his bread in one great gulp, slicing the rest of his meat into smaller strips as he chewed.  Once his beak was free, he nodded again.

"Good.  He's visited me in the hospital enough times for one life.  I suppose the law of averages was going to play out sooner or later."





By some unspoken consent, Fyrenn and Neyla agreed that it was too early in the morning to discuss anything of substance during the flight.

The Gryphons spent the majority of the relatively short trip in silence.  Fyrenn allowed his gaze to wander out over the city, reflecting that it almost looked like a strange kind of natural geological wonder when it was so devoid of people.

The day had dawned foggy and bleak, both for Manhattan-proper and over the ocean just beyond the Barrier.  The spires of the megaskyscrapers, poking up through fog and clouds evoked the sensation of flying through a dead forest that had been reclaimed by the ocean.

Fyrenn's ears twitched, and his realized that part of the eerie atmosphere came from the absence of overwhelming noise.  Usually a city of such scale was so alive that one could feel a thrum in their bones.

But New York had been more than half-emptied, it was early in the morning, and the weather meant that many people had likely stayed home.

Even the central Hospital building seemed to have fallen prey to a strange kind of desolation.  Barely a tenth of its lights were turned on, and most of its rescue VTOLs were silently tied down to their pads.

The vast majority of the patient population had been moved to a safer distance.

The two Gryphons didn't even bother with the structure's main entrance, instead alighting silently on the external balcony nearest to their destination.

Hutch's room was only three doors down.  The Gryphons' arrival barely seemed to raise any eyebrows amongst the staff.  

Fyrenn wondered if that was an indication that people in general were becoming acclimated to such sights, or if it simply meant the same personnel had been present when the other members of the group visited.

Neyla rapped gingerly on the door three times with a fisted talon.  After a short pause, Hutch's voice issued from within.

"Come."

Fyrenn held the door open for Neyla to pass, then softly made his way in after her.  Between them, the two consumed nearly half the empty space in the room.

Fyrenn winced as Hutch came into view.  The General looked as if he had improved slightly since their video call, but that was only a relative change.  Overall, he still looked pasty, drained, and physically broken.

The majority of his casts and skin patches were still in place, and his arm was still inundated with intravenous drips.

The only consolation came in the form of the man's eyes.  Fyrenn saw, in his friend's gaze, the same fiery will and determination that had doubtless been seething there from the moment he was born.

Hutch spoke first, chuckling slightly.  Fyrenn took it as a good sign that the man didn't immediately descend into a coughing fit.

"I told the others I wouldn't believe it until I saw it...  You know you two always did make a fine pair."

Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head slowly, closing his eyes momentarily in frustration.

"I'll give you one free pass because you outrank me, and one because you look like something dragged in after a hunt...  But after that you'll get no more special consideration than Stan does."

Neyla ignored the red Gryphon's mild tirade, and offered Hutch a slight hint of a smile.

"It is wonderful to be on better terms with him again.  And I'm very glad to see you're mending."

Hutch snorted, and began the agonizingly slow and painful process of shifting into a semi-recumbent posture.

"I think it would go faster if they weren't pumping me with all this crap.  They said they'll start nano-treatments tomorrow though, so with any luck I'll actually be walking out of this hell hole on my own two feet inside three days."

Fyrenn grinned and rolled his eyes.

"Pass along my deepest sympathies to the nursing staff.  I'm sure they have no idea what they put themselves in for."

Hutch waved absently with one hand, allowing his head to fall back and rest against the mound of pillows at the head of the biobed.

"You, them, me...  We're all gettin' off easy.  I wouldn't want to be anywhere within a thousand yards of military command right now."

Neyla nodded, her expression sobering and her ears drooping slightly.

"The scale of infiltration you're dealing with is...  Staggering."

Fyrenn shifted his gaze to the room's window, absently probing the middle distance.

"There's going to be a shakeup.  Maybe the biggest in recent history."

Hutch shrugged slightly, and sighed.

"It's the price we pay for the system we chose.  Besides; It worked out well enough in the end.  Thanks in part to both of you."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, "In very small part.  If any one person deserves the majority of the thanks, it's Celestia."

The General coughed, nodding as he reached for a glass of water perched at the edge of the bedside table.

There was a short pause as he pulled down nearly half the container's contents, before speaking again.

"She's on her way home from what I've heard, but I don't doubt she'll be back as soon as she can afford to make the trip.  I hate to sound like a suit here, but that's the kind of PR you just can't pass up."

Hutch inhaled deeply, and swallowed, doing his best to soothe a series of insistent internal aches.

"Enough of all that.  My throat is real angry with me, and I need to get you two squared away before I completely lose it."

The General turned to Neyla as he continued.

"I put everyone else where I thought their skills might do the most good, but I've still got huge gaps in the security forces on-site at the Bureau.  It's one hell of a tempting target now that it's been turned into regional command, and I need someone to be in charge of locking it down tighter than a drum.  That's you."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, "There will be no external objections to this appointment?"

Hutch snorted once more, "Maybe...  But at this point I don't really give a flyin' flip.  Martial law is in effect, the JRSF is in charge of site security, I am in charge of regional JRSF, therefore when I say you are in charge of site security, my word is law.  You're free to enforce that law, and handle any 'external objections' with whatever methods suit your personal sense of efficiency."

The Gryphoness nodded curtly, "As long as there will be no negative repercussions for you."

The General chuckled, and gestured to his chest with one bandaged hand.

"Look at me.  You think any negative repercussions could possibly be worse than this?  For once in my life, I am taking a page from the 'Lieutenant Isaac Wrenn field manual of no-rules ass whoopin'.'  I'm not gonna end up flat on my back in a morgue in two weeks just because protocol said so."

Fyrenn let out something midway between a barking snort, and a chuckle.

"Who are you?  And what did you do with the man who wouldn't even let me peek inside a crate, that I almost died protecting, because of protocol?"

Hutch glowered good-naturedly.

"Can you blame me for that?  I let you peek, and here we are three years later and you've demolished more with your bare claws and beak in that time than I've managed in my entire career, you red terror."

The General paused, smiling, then gestured to the door, his gaze falling slightly.

"Uhm...  There's really no nice way to say this, but I need a moment alone with the Lieutenant Commander."

It took Neyla a long moment to realize that Hutch was referring to Fyrenn by his Earthgov military rank.  It took her another protracted span to fully process the odd nature of the request.

Hutch held up a conciliatory hand before she could speak.

"If it were up to me, I would bring you in on this too.  If this were just a simple matter of breaking protocol, I'd do it.  But this is about a personal promise I made.  I'm already breaking it by having this conversation with Fyrenn, and I can't make it that much worse by doubling that sin.  All that aside, the more people I tell, the more I put innocent lives at risk.  I'm asking you to trust me, trust him, and you'll understand soon enough."

Wordlessly, Neyla nodded.  Fyrenn could see by her expression that she was none too pleased with being kept in the dark.  Nonetheless, her sentiment seemed to take the form of concern and frustration, more than any sort of resentment.

She offered Hutch a final smile, turning her head as she stepped through the door.

"Be well General.  And please be merciful to the staff."

Once the door had closed, and a long moment of silence had passed, Hutch began to speak once more.  Fyrenn took up a seated position on his haunches, ears perked, eyes attentively fixed on the General.

"It's pretty obvious to anyone that I only survived the attack by the skin of my teeth.  And anyone with even one working eye could tell you that we came very, very close to loosing the Fort entirely."

The General shifted into an almost-sitting position, and fixed Fyrenn with a deathly serious gaze.  His words were slow, deliberate, and icy.

"What no one knows...  Is that we had nothing to do with pushing back the HLF.  No one knows but me.  And now, you."

Fyrenn titled his head, and narrowed his eyes.

"What do you mean 'we' had nothing to do with---"

Hutch interjected sharply, "I mean every Earthgov soldier inside that structure was either dead, or dying.  The one guy who had any faculties left was the one who saved my skin, and he spent most of his time fending off the traitor who made the whole thing possible.  We were *sunk.*  It was *over* before it even started."

The General sat back, and coughed several times.  Fyrenn passed him the glass of water, and Hutch emptied it with gusto.

When he had regained the power of speech, the man continued.

"The truth is...  Someone else was involved.  Non-standard personnel."

Fyrenn's eyes widened, and his voice dropped to an almost conspiratorially low volume.

"You saw this personally?"

Hutch nodded, continuing in a similarly low tone.

"No uniforms.  They weren't old enough for uniforms.  I only saw two, but judging by the aftermath, there were more.  The older one could have been close to her young teens.  The other was probably just about to hit double digits."

The corners of Fyrenn's beak twisted, his ears flattened, and his eyes narrowed in an expression of reflexive horror.  Hutch continued undeterred.

"They had...  Some kind of implants.  On their heads.  In their spines.  One of them just reached out, and imploded a guy's head from across the room.  It was like nothing I've ever seen, 'cept maybe Unicorn magic."

Hutch leaned over, bringing his head closer to Fyrenn's.

"They stood over me...  The older one wanted to kill me too, because I had seen them.  The younger one convinced her not to.  Only just.  I had to promise them I'd never breathe a word to another living soul...  But Fyrenn...  These were *children.*  Children who had military-grade cybernetics technology ten years ahead of anything the HLF could dream about."

The red Gryphon tilted his head again, ruffling his wings reflexively, "Why tell me, specifically?"

Hutch leaned back and rested his head on the pillows once more, breathing heavily from the exertion of so much movement.

"Because you're the best man for this job.  You're a Gryphon.  You're a match for dozens or hundreds of the best in Human soldiering.  But you've also got something native Gryphons don't.  The insider perspective on the Human species.  You have experience cutting through the fog of lies politics cloaks itself with.  You instinctively know how a Human thinks and behaves."

The General smiled slightly, "And, everything else aside, you are the most ruthless hunter I've ever seen.  When you're looking for the truth behind the masks, you're downright scary.  And you can do that alone.  Why tell you?  Because someone has to find out who's responsible for this.  And I trust you."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, speaking with an eerily reserved calm indicative of how disturbed he was internally.

"At the very least, we're looking at a new player in this mess...  And at worst, we're dealing with someone who experiments on children for the sake of creating soldiers."

Hutch closed his eyes, and folded his hands over his chest.

"For obvious reasons, this conversation should stay between us until we both agree it's time for wider scale measures.  And the rest, I'm sure you know;  Don't co-opt traceable resources for this, don't let the others figure out what you're doing, and don't...  For the love of God...  Get yourself killed."

Fyrenn chuckled, and rolled his eyes, "You know me better than that..." His expression hardened once more.

"...Any idea where I should begin?"

Hutch pointed towards the floor, "Down.  Way down.  These kids, poor buggers, looked like they hadn't had a decent meal in months, or a new change of clothes in years.  Go where the homeless are, and you're probably in the right neighborhood if nothing else."

The red Gryphon smirked slightly, "You do realize you're talking about one loner searcher finding two needles in the largest haystack in *either* world?"

The General waved a hand dismissively, "You're overestimating the difficulty.  These children have gone unnoticed up till now because no one wants to see the basic problem, let alone this special case.  You know exactly what to look for, and I'd wager the power to crush skulls telekinetically raises eyebrows."

Fyrenn rose, and made his way quietly to the door.

"Like Neyla said, get well soon.  And don't torture the nurses."

Hutch waved, eyes still closed.

"I'd say 'be careful,' 'stay safe,' or 'good luck,' but I know you don't believe in any of those things."

The Gryphon smirked again, firing off one last retort as he pulled the door closed.

"I don't need luck.  I have large talons."





Fyrenn quickly decided he had set himself up for a ridiculous task.

He knew parts of Manhattan's lower structure were hundreds of years old.  Others were more recent additions which had nonetheless been abandoned and completely forgotten over recent decades.

Compounding that, thousands of miles of modern service and transit tunnels wove through the entire hyperstructure.  At least twenty percent were susceptible to surveillance blind-spots.

For almost two hours Fyrenn circled high above the island, trying to find a compelling reason to select a starting point for his monumental effort.

At last, as the clock struck noon, he decided on a spot in the lower east side, for no other reason beyond the proximity to a food cart selling synth-meat.

The stand's owner seemed surprised at Fyrenn's arrival, and even more surprised that his bank number and PIN connected to a valid account.  

As the Red Gryphon ambled away, idly chewing on a particularly tough strip of the food, he wondered how long the man would risk operating his business before opting in to an evacuation queue.  Or a Conversion program.

Fyrenn decided, as he completed his impromptu meal, that he would be better off on paw and claw.

Though his vision provided the range and resolution to see anything of consequence from high above, most of the undercity was quite simply physically obscured.

The impossible tangle of alleyways, tunnels, compartments, vents, tubes, and pipes was worse than any bramble thicket imaginable.  In Fyrenn's estimation, it might as well have been a cave system, and he decided to treat it as such.

As he walked, keeping up the fastest comfortable pace short of a loping run, he began to notice an eerie trend.

Normally the less civilized portions of the city were full of life.  The homeless, low level street gang members, and even a fair number of Diamond Dog packs.  But instead, a preternatural calm had descended.

The homeless population seemed to be virtually non-existent.  Fyrenn wondered if the majority had chosen Conversion, or had simply struck out into the wilds on foot, hoping to make it to the next nearest city before their food supply dwindled.

Most of the upper-crust gangs had long since vacated the city, following the majority of the wealthier populace.  Even the Diamond Dog packs seemed to have begun to realize that the very ground beneath their paws was condemned.

The few living souls Fyrenn did notice seemed to almost universally belong to either a lower level gang, or a less-than-reputable Diamond Dog clan.

The former shied away from him almost reflexively.  

They were mostly rebellious young men and women;  Poorly dressed, poorly educated, and generally underprivileged.  Ground down by the system with practiced intentionality.  The organizations they belonged to were, like them, the dregs of the dregs, used as punching bags and patsies by other more well connected crime syndicates.  

They stayed behind when others left because to them, the decreased law enforcement in the lower city was an opportunity for advancement.

They stayed away from Fyrenn, because Gryphons had a reputation for merciless ruthlessness.

Whether they quietly averted their gaze, or began glaring and whispering to each other about how they could take him if they really wanted to, Fyrenn noticed that one and all, their eyes were filled with fear.

No matter how much Humans tried to ignore the stories surrounding the more aggressive Equestrian species, the majority of them knew on an instinctual level that by comparison they were little more than a prey animal of the lowest order, facing a predator of the highest order.

Soldiers knew how to turn that side of the Human survival instinct off, more or less.  It was part of the training.  Others, with more pride than sense, could subvert the instinct out of pure arrogance.  But for the rest, it was a strange and disturbing sensation.

Fyrenn firmly believed that in some cases it contributed to the general tide of xenophobia and anti-Conversion sentiment amongst certain demographics.

Some things were universal, agnostic of species and origin.  Resentment was certainly one of them.  Along with the arrogance, or fear, that it festered from.

Fyrenn paused and tensed as he noticed two pairs of yellow eyes fixed intently on him.  The two Trolls were gazing out from the relative safety of a disused sewer outlet, growling and muttering quietly to each other with high frequency nigh-undetectable vocalizations.

The red Gryphon eschewed eye contact, instead pulling out his sidearm, and making a show of checking the laser pistol's capacitor banks.

The two Diamond Dogs withdrew swiftly into the depths of their hideaway, their claws making a disturbing scrabbling noise against the corrugated metal of the pipe.  The advanced nature of Fyrenn's weapon identified him as more than just a wandering Gryphon.

The roving packs would tangle with individuals of opportunity, but they knew better than to attack anyone with a connection to Earthgov.

As he turned down an unusually dark alleyway, Fyrenn said silent words of thanks that he had been off-world when the Diamond Dog Conversion program went live.

The idea of taking one species, and turning it into another, had always been fraught with risks.  

Forced Equine converts caught in Potion attacks had sometimes described severe forms of depression and melancholia;  A psychological backlash to the juxtaposition of trauma, and the usual Pony spirit of optimism.  A form of 'emotional redlining.'

Some recovered.  Others never quite did.

Earthgov had swiftly learned that a mis-fired Draconification was a disaster on the scale of a super-hurricane.  The body would always survive...  Not so the mind and soul.

That left behind hundreds of tons of armor plated magic-breathing rage, driven entirely by predatory instincts.

As a result, the government-imposed psychological testing for Draconic Conversion was nearly as stringent as the tests Gryphons imposed on their own program.

Fyrenn had spent many quiet moments in his first years as a Gryphon wondering what would happen if someone unsuitable for the program ever got ahold of the Gryphon Potion.  At one point, the HLF had apparently tried, with severely mixed results.

The files were classified above his paygrade, but the rumors implied that either a person adapted to their new fixed morality, and reconciled it with their identity, or the Potion triggered an instant non-bypassable terminal 'failsafe.'

The ill-advised project had reduced several HLF cells to smoking craters full of corpses at the claws of those who survived, and put a sudden stop to any and all attempts to steal Gryphonization Potion for later re-distribution.

Fyrenn had no desire to know precisely what 'failsafe' meant or how it worked.  But the rumors of half-converted people bursting into flames and atomizing into piles of carbon ash had silenced the majority of the remaining opposition to the program's entry requirements.

As with any powerful technology, Conversion had a terrifying dark side.  In Fyrenn's opinion, the darkest of its dangers came in the form of the Diamond Dog serum.

The Diamond Dog pack instinct could rival the Changeling Hive mind in terms of the power it could exert on a person, particularly due to its disarming subtleties.

At first, all Diamond Dog Conversions were carefully engineered to account for the pack mentality.  Entrants had to be educated carefully, then sponsored by a reputable, honorable pack of their choice, into which they would willingly and knowingly enter with full preparation.

Then the serum had hit the street.

Illicit Ponification chemicals had been a problem since the advent of the PER.  But the worst results had been the occasional casualties from un-treated potion allergies.

When gang-brewed Diamond Dog serum had appeared on the black market, the outcome had been disastrous in a uniquely horrifying way that shocked the world.

Fyrenn shivered, and ruffled his wings.  Even contemplating the idea chilled his blood.  He paused to examine his surroundings.  Before him lay an enormous steam vent, long since deactivated.  To his left was a maintenance hatch, and to his right another alleyway.

Arbitrarily, he chose the hatch on the left.  As he forced the rusted iron dome into an open position, and squeezed into the decaying concrete tunnel, his eyes lit upon a chalk marking scrawled into the drab gray surface of the tube wall.

JRSF monthly briefing packets included a wealth of information on current threats and trends.  Fyrenn recognized the tag as a territory and directional symbol, advertising illicit Diamond Dog potion for sale.

He carefully examined the insignia, looking for the tell-tale hidden stroke that indicated the direction to travel.

He followed the tunnel as silently as he could.  The structure quickly expanded into a large, vaulted intersection.  Fyrenn leapt noiselessly onto an upper catwalk, and moved cautiously out into the larger space.

Beneath him, the floor of the chamber was littered with old ill-maintained trolleys and tool carts.  

Towards the far end of the vaulted room, a rag-tag stand of sorts had been assembled.  There was a booth, manned by a grinning young man who was absently toying with a handgun far too large for his malnourished grip.

Behind the booth a series of carts had been emptied of their previous cargo, and filled with dusty glass containers of mismatched shapes and sizes.  The flasks, cylinders, cups, and tanks were filled with a blue-ish gray viscous chemical that sparkled and glowed softly in the eye-catching way that only Potion could.

To the side sat a ratty reclining chair, beside which stood a scrawny Diamond Dog Vulpine, his streaked gray and orange fur matted with detritus, food scraps, and old blood.

Several more Human enforcers lounged about on various pieces of debris and furniture.  The only figure who seemed slightly out of place was the young man standing on the other side of the booth.

He was the only one in the room who looked to have eaten a full meal within the last twenty four hours.  His clothing was intentionally bedraggled, but Fyrenn recognized several small signs of latent wealth;  The state of his shoes, the brand of his chronometer, the pallor of his skin.

He rotated his ears slightly, and focused on the conversation.

"This is not something I *choose* man!  I'm Human just like you!"  

The young man's voice betrayed a sense of desperation.

The slightly older man behind the booth twirled his gun dangerously around two fingers, and shrugged.

"I dunno breh...  You don't look like you really understand what you are..."  The man leaned forward, and tapped his chest with the butt of his gun, "In *here.*"

The younger man threw up both hands, and leaned over the booth, raising his voice with each word.

"We all gotta do what we gotta do to *survive,* but how are people like you and me supposed to live with the lies the Bureaus sell!  They want me to either give up the fight we all got inside of us, or they want me to pass a bunch of tests and commit to a bunch of shit like mating for life, and living by some fuckin' bird 'morality code.' "

The gang leader sighed and rolled his eyes, "Too true my friend, too true...  But you really think you're one of us?  You look more like a space-cadet to me.  Or hey;  Maybe you can wait for the bull-people to start up with their hand outs---" 

The young man slammed both hands down on the booth, and practically screamed in response.

"I ain't doin time as a POPSICLE on those deathtrap space-ships.  And I sure as hell ain't waiting for the Minotaurs to pull their horns out of their asses and get their program started!  I got a *life* to live man!"

The gang leader grinned widely.  Fyrenn scowled.  He knew the tactic well, it was simplistic psychology as old as Humankind itself.  First convince someone their situation was not by choice.  Next, convince them they needed to side with your point of view to be happy.  Set the hook by resisting and waving them off, allowing them to convince themselves and do all the work for you.

Finally, acquiesce 'reluctantly.'

The gang leader rose, and gestured to the chair.

"Proceed my brother man.  I think we can set you up..."

Fyrenn watched as the group sprang into action, preparing a syringe as they ushered their latest victim to the chair.  All the while, the Vulpine watched silently, smiling disconcertingly.

For a long moment the Gryphon debated simply leaving the young man to his fate.  Fyrenn was lightly armed, unarmored, and he knew the boy wouldn't be grateful to him if he did intervene.

Swiftly, however, Fyrenn decided he didn't have any options, from the moral standpoint.  At the very least he could get some illicit Potion out of circulation.  That alone would make the effort worthwhile.

He tip-clawed his way around the catwalk in absolute silence, waiting for his opportunity.

The Vulpine was the single true threat in the room.  However he looked too young, malnourished, and inexperienced to provide real resistance.  It helped that the smell of solvent, sewage, and Human sweat was so overwhelming, that he had missed Fyrenn's approach.

The red Gryphon poised on the edge of the balcony, waiting patiently until the needle was poised, and the Vulpine was fully distracted.

His descent was so swift, and so silent, that there was a full two seconds of shocked pause following the ear-splitting crack as his sword buried itself up to the hilt in the Vulpine's skull.

Fyrenn calmly sent the loaded syringe spinning with a well placed strike from his right wing, disarming the next closest Human with a similar blow from his left wing.

By the time the first gang member managed to put his hand on his weapon, Fyrenn had already drawn his pistol.  It only took another second and a half for bright red, searingly hot bolts of light to issue forth in a dervish-like pattern, felling each opponent in turn, leaving them with a perfectly circular cauterized hole between their eyes.

In total, the confrontation lasted a grand sum total of three and a half seconds.

Fyrenn calmly extracted his sword from his opponent with a swift jerk, and set about wiping it clean on the arm of the chair.  The young man flinched at the proximity of the glittering razor edges.

"Wha...  What...  What the *hell* man?!"

Fyrenn silently sheathed his blade, and stepped over to the racks of potion.  He glanced down at his pistol, and noted that he had more than enough charge to complete his task.  An inner sense of mounting satisfaction told him he had made the right choice.

The gangs selling Diamond Dog potion failed to disclose the catch.  Converts paid for their 'free ride' with forced induction into the pack who had sponsored the creation, and sale of the Potion.

It had soon become apparent that every low-rung Equestrian Troll pack, and a few Vulpines and mixed packs, were using the situation to increase their standing, at the expense of people's freedom.

The young man rose, and held up both hands.

"No man!  Don't!"

Fyrenn rotated his head abruptly to fix the boy with a bone-melting glare.

"Do you understand what you were about to do?  Do you *know* what they do with people like you?!"

Fyrenn turned and crossed the space, grabbing the young man with his free claw, and squeezing until the talons drew blood from his shoulder.

"These are Bind-Bloods.  The people they are offering 'freedom' to?  Idiots like you? The lucky ones are put to work here as little more than attack dogs.  *Pets* of the alpha, to be used at his or her pleasure.  In every single sense.  The rest get packed into cargo containers, like sacks of dry goods, and shipped across the barrier to be slaves in the *mines.*  And frankly I couldn't tell you which might be worse if you asked me.  Either way, you can't even try to go against it.  You chose to bind your blood, and so your blood is bound forever to the pack."

Fyrenn released the young man, and stepped back to the rag-tag collection of glass containers, muttering darkly as he worked.

"The lucky ones are found by ConSec and die in detention from the psychological strain of being unable to satisfy and obey the pack.  The pack they chose to bind themselves to for eternity.  The rest end up spending the rest of their lives treated as slave animals.  Possessions.  Chattel."

The young man shook his head, wincing and nursing his gashed shoulder.

"Man what other way do I *have*?!  I can't be like you, I just ain't built like that..."

Fyrenn snorted as he removed the safety once more from his weapon.

"Let me share something I've learned with you.  Freedom, and most of the things we associate with it, are not basic fundamental rights which we get to cash in like poker chips for our individual wants.  They are terrible and great privileges.  We have to keep them alive by choosing to become something better than that which our lesser nature would compel us to be."

The red Gryphon raised his weapon, and began calmly blasting the potion containers into oblivion.

"Maybe it's trite kid, but life really is just a series of choices.  Every single thing we do, or don't do, is a choice.  Everything we are, and are not, is a decision we make, every second of every day.  And we're responsible for all of them.  Every last one."

There was a protracted moment of silence as the last container shattered.  Fyrenn holstered his pistol, and dropped to all fours, moving quietly to stand over the sobbing young man.

His voice softened slightly as he reached down, and helped the boy to his feet.

"You know, I had a friend like you once.  He believed that he had a fundamental right to his self-interest, his pride, and any other behaviors created by the drives of his basic nature.  I never had this conversation with him, and as a result I ended up putting a bullet in his brain when he crossed a line I couldn't follow him over.  And that was my foolish choice, based on my foolish basic nature."

The young man finally met Fyrenn's eyes.  The Gryphon did his best to use the molten emotions behind his gold orbs to force his point home.

"You don't have to be that..."  Fyrenn jerked a thumb talon at the Vulpine's corpse.

"You can, but you don't have to be.  You don't have to be like me either.  You don't really *have* to be anything..."

Fyrenn turned, and made his way to the next tunnel entryway.  He turned his head, and shrugged both wings, "Unless you really want to be free."
> Chapter 37
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 26th, Gregorian Calendar

The 'Safe Room' was quite aptly, if obviously named.

Like thousands of its kind across the world, the small sound-proofed emission-proofed chamber was secreted two stories beneath a legitimate place of business.

Every single chamber was connected by a satellite-based communications architecture.  The orbital devices were ostensibly for entertainment companies.  While they performed that function adequately enough, nearly half of each device was given over to an encrypted low band signal processing system.

To any external observer, even a suspicious one, it appeared as if Mr. Utah had simply entered the hotel, checked in, and ducked into an elevator.

What no observer could have guessed, however, was that the elevator had taken him two floors beneath the basement and opened out into the Safe Room.

The chamber was dark and cylindrical.  Only two items graced the space;  A semi-comfortable metal chair, and a sweeping attached console.

Mr. Utah carefully placed his briefcase beside the chair, and seated himself.  He straightened his suit, and tapped in his personal authorization on the console.

After a moment, a series of colors audio waveforms appeared, each tagged with a cabinet member's name.

Mr. Churchill spoke first.

"We're here today to discuss potential action items, valid projects, and functional assets."

Dr. Omaha's voice sprang up next.  Calm, collected, but adamant.

"We have several battalions of Phase Three augments, completed and ready.  About twice as many refurbished Phase One and Two troopers exist, all told, on a global scale.  Unfortunately, they represent the only cybernetically enhanced assets we will have access to for at least a year's time.  All of our supply chains have to be re-worked between now and then."

Mr. Utah flicked open his lighter, and spoke as he prepared a cigarette.

"We've been stockpiling large amounts of Draconic Potion.  We have more than enough to last through any serious supply restructuring that will be required."

Mr. Corsair quickly interjected, his voice dripping concern.

"My section audit indicates that we're critically low on military assets.  The Retribution will be back in mint condition within the week, but we can't risk lofting our last three aircraft, and we can't acquire new large scale airframes any time in the foreseeable future.  We'll be reliant on sub-standard light drones.  We may as well rule out any form of armored ground asset larger than an APC as well."

Mr. Argus rounded off the grim string of bad reports.

"The political front is in dire straits at present.  Pro-Humanism sympathies are at record lows across the Council, and to make matters worse, this comes on the heels of the impeachments which removed myself, and several of my best assets.  The only good news is that sentiment isn't especially high for the Bureaus either.  We have a chance to do good damage control in the weeks to come."

Mr. Churchill's voice seemed tired, but resolute.

"I agree.  I want Midway Section to spend the next three days building a strong line of political attack against the non-Human sympathizers.  Mrs. Truman;  I want you to make good use of your position on the Council.  Find me someone we can use as an anchor, and a powerbase."

The woman's voice came back sure, and strong.

"I think I have someone in mind already."

Mr. Utah cleared his throat, and finished the last of his cigarette, putting it out on the edge of the console with a barely audible hiss.

"This still leaves us without a major line of direct attack."

For a moment, there was silence.  Then Mr. Churchill's voice came back sternly.

"We don't have the assets to commit to a major attack.  Right now, we are in recovery mode."

Mr. Utah shook his head slowly, and steepled his fingers.

"I disagree.  The best thing for us, right now, would be a major victory.  A victory I can deliver."

After another pause, Ms. Daladier spoke cautiously.

"What are you proposing?"

Mr. Utah stood, and began pacing behind the console.

"Ragnar was doomed from the start.  I don't disagree that doing away with the Solar Tyrant and her ilk was a bad notion, but I vehemently disagree with the proposition that it was worth the type of risk we took.  Even if we had succeeded, what would that have earned us?  The same scrutiny, the same public ire, and little to no reprieve in terms of the spread of Conversion.  A symbolic victory, nothing more."

Ms. Juno's familiar tone of derision nearly brought a grin to Mr. Utah's lips.

"And you think you can do better?"

The man smiled, and straightened his suit.

"As a matter of fact, I can.  You see..."

Mr. Utah paused to flick open his lighter once more, and extract another cigarette.  As soon as the softly burning tube was clenched firmly between his lips, his smile widened.

"I can offer us the chance to, in a single day's assault, wipe out the Equestrian threat.  In its entirety."





Fyrenn twisted a strip of meat idly in both claws.  Kephic cleared his throat, and leaned forward.

"You weren't at dinner last night.  What has Hutch got you doing that's keeping you out so late?"

The red Gryphon glanced up, and shook his head, "I can't really say."

The statement brought looks of concern, shock, and even a little anger, to the group.  Varan glowered as he spoke.

"For what reason?"

Fyrenn sighed and closed his eyes.

"Because I had to agree to keep it off-books.  At least temporarily."

Carradan cocked his head and snorted.

"So?"

Fyrenn fixed him with a piercing glare.

"So lives beyond ours are at stake.  I tell any of you, and it not only puts you at risk, and puts Hutch in an even more compromised position...  But others, very vulnerable people, could die as well."

The statement broke the general atmosphere of irritation, replacing it with concern, and contrition.  Skye frowned.

"Are you sure we can't help you?"

Fyrenn shook his head curtly.

"Trust me;  I wish you could.  I really do.  I think it would make my task infinitely simpler.  But we all have our jobs.  Hopefully if I make enough progress, mine will meet up with all of yours somewhere soon, and then we can make real headway."

Neyla sighed, and shook her head.

"I knew I should have demanded to be included in that discussion."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, "Then why didn't you?  I could have really, really used a second set of eyes.  I mean...  You have no idea."

Kephic snorted, and scarfed down a piece of bread.

"That bad?"

Fyrenn nodded, "Try to imagine finding a golf ball buried somewhere in the world's largest cave system.  Now imagine someone moves that golf ball every day.  To say nothing of all the monsters and slimy things in the cave that you have to push past to get where you're going."

Varan nodded, and sighed.

"That does beg an important question."

All eyes fixed eagerly on the golden Gryphon.

He finished chewing a strip of synth-meat, and cocked his head slightly.

"What precisely is a golf ball?"





Fyrenn decided that a little extra exertion was a small price to pay for a large boost in protection.

It certainly didn't hurt that the full suit of unmarked body armor added to his intimidation factor considerably.

The red Gryphon spent most of the morning circling fruitlessly through alleyways, steam vents, and maintenance tubes.

Mile after mile of drab gray duracrete, older decaying concrete, and imposing steel support beams fell away.  The monotony was disheartening.

The discouragement was only compounded by his attempts at uncovering information.  The Gryphon spoke with nearly everyone he crossed paths with;  Two Diamond Dogs, three gang members, a pair of maintenance workers, and two homeless women.

No one had anything of relevance to disclose.

Just before noon, Fyrenn decided he'd had enough.  He spent fifteen minutes scrambling his way to a surface street, and another ten finding a place to get lunch.

He reluctantly settled on a small fast-food kiosk.  The automated device was barely as large as two banking terminals put together, and only offered a limited selection of kelp and synth-meat products.

Fyrenn selected a triple portion of synth-meat, and made his way across the street to a series of empty benches, the plastic encased 'food' clutched under one foreleg.

He yawned, stretched, and took up a relaxed position draped over one of the benches.  He removed his helmet, sighed, and tore into the synth meat packages.

As Fyrenn began to chew the disgusting rubber-like substance his gaze, and mind, wandered aimlessly.

He swept his eyes over the sleek curvature of the nearest megaskyscraper, and tried to frame the sight in optimistic terms.  He tried to imagine what such a structure would look like against a lush green landscape, and a piercing blue sky, Gryphons and Pegasi circling around its open air balconies freely.

Fyrenn's musings were sharply disrupted by the unexpected advent of a white and red projectile.  Reflexively, he raised a claw and snagged the object out of the air, interrupting the latter potion of its flight.

Fyrenn glanced down at the baseball with an expression of bemusement, then up at the item's point of origin.

A small gaggle of children, mostly young Humans, and a smattering of colts and fillies, stood in the mouth of an alleyway across the street.  The kids shuffled awkwardly, and peered out at the Gryphon with expressions of dismay and fear.

Fyrenn smiled, and waved one claw.  The children shrank back.

The red Gryphon glanced down at the baseball, and tossed it lazily skyward, catching it easily as it came back down.  He slowly rose from the bench, and took a thrower's stance on his hind legs.

Fyrenn made sure that he imparted as little momentum to the orb as he could without ruining its arc. He had no desire to crush the baseball to a pulp against the opposite wall of the alley.

The baseball sailed up and out, falling gracefully into a proffered glove as one of the older Humans stepped forward to receive it.

She offered Fyrenn a slight smile, and the group pulled back into the alleyway to continue their game.

The red Gryphon turned back to the remainder of his meal.  As he chewed the last of the synth-meat, he fixed his gaze surreptitiously on the children.

In typical youngster fashion, their variation of baseball was crude, physically rough, barely confined to any set of rules at all.  They looked to Fyrenn as if they were having a great deal of fun.

He paused, and cocked his head, as a thought occurred to him.

As soon as he had swallowed the last of his meal, he rose once more, placing his helmet back on his head, and dropping to all fours.

He crossed the street as silently as he could, his presence going unnoticed until he arrived in the mouth of the alley itself.

One by one, the children noticed the Gryphon's advent.  Silence descended, and the youngsters pulled together into something resembling a protective huddle.

Fyrenn smiled as invitingly as he could.

"Whatever the rumors say;  I promise I won't bite."

The silence continued, so Fyrenn sat back on his haunches, hoping the posture would decrease his intimidation.  He removed his helmet slowly, and set it on the pavement beside him.

"Which of you pitched me that fastball?"

The group shrank away, leaving one of the younger girls to shuffle awkwardly, staring down at the pavement.

Fyrenn's grin widened as he noted her tomboy hairstyle, and baggy ConSec T-shirt.

"I don't really know anything about sports but I have to say...  You've got a nice arm."

She smiled slightly, and finally spoke.

"Dad says I need to work on my control."

Fyrenn tilted his head slightly, and thrummed deep in his throat.

"That's a fair assessment.  But I wouldn't worry too much about it.  It's just a matter of practice."

One of the Colts peeked out from the back of the group, and spoke in a barely audible tone.

"Are we...  In trouble?"

Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head.

"Absolutely not.  But I sure am."

One of the older boy's stepped forward, his eyes widening.

"I thought Gryphons couldn't get into trouble!"

Fyrenn laughed outright, dipping his head and closing his eyes, trying to reign in his mirth as best he could.

"Are you kidding?  No one is better at getting into trouble than we are.  And as Gryphons go, I am easily the worst."

A younger boy took a hesitant step forward, and squinted.

"Hey...  I recognize you!  You were on the 'net, and the news..."

The red Gryphon sighed, and nodded.

"Yeah.  I was actually hoping no one would notice.  Being a celebrity isn't all that wonderful."

Fyrenn smiled down at one of the younger girls as she tentatively brushed a hand against his right wing.

"Go on.  It's very real."

To emphasize his point, he stretched out his right wing, forming a gigantic crimson canopy.  The children crowded forward to examine the complex layering of feathers.

Fyrenn's smile widened.

"You know, I wonder if any of you could help me get out of trouble.  You're all pretty good at it right?  I certainly was when I was your age."

The words garnered Fyrenn a dozen curious, mischievous, entranced expressions.  The red Gryphon lowered his head, and spoke in a faux conspiratorial whisper.

"I'm looking for someone.  I think they're in trouble too, and if I can't find them, then I'll be in trouble.  Deeper trouble anyways."

Fyrenn glanced up at the end of the alleyway, then gestured with a claw.

"You ever see anyone your age who didn't have a home?  Ever hear anything about children with strange metal bits and pieces on the heads, and backs?"

One of the smaller fillies nodded slowly.

"I saw a girl.  I thought at first she was wearing a helmet like yours.  But I think maybe the shiny bits were actually part of her head.  I think she wanted to play a game with me, but then another girl came, and the two ran away together."

Fyrenn did his best to hold back his enthusiasm.  He had no desire to upset his young helpers.

"When was this?"

The little Pony stuck her tongue out one side of her muzzle, and glanced up at the sky thoughtfully.

"Yesterday maybe?  Or the day before..."

The red Gryphon leaned in close, and held the volume of his voice in check as best he could.

"Do you remember where?"

The filly nodded adamantly.

"Mom says I can't go there anymore.  She was really angry when she caught me...  Won't your mommy be angry with you if she catches you?  My mom said no one is supposed to go down there."

Fyrenn shook his head and blinked.

"I...  Don't have a mom anymore.  She went away when I was just a bit younger than you are."

The unicorn hung her head, her ears drooping to match the melancholy in her voice.

"Oh.  I'm sorry."

The Gryphon sighed and shook his head once more.

"I'll see her again.  I've learned not to worry about that so much anymore.  But I am worried about your little friend.  Don't you think she might get in trouble for being 'down there' too?"

The filly's eyes widened, and she nodded slowly, as if everything had become clear at last.

"Oooohhh yeaaahhh.  Well, you know the place with the huge big holes in the ground?  Where all the boxes come and go?"

Fyrenn inclined his head.  The description could fit only one place in all the world that he knew of.  The little Pony sat back on her haunches, and gazed up into Fyrenn's eyes.

"I wanted to see where the boxes come from.  So I found a really old set of stairs.  Close to all the big red lights.  It kinda smells down there, and there's lots of icky puddles."

The red Gryphon smiled, and tapped the top of his helmet absently.

"Well your mom is right;  You shouldn't go down into places like that.  There are scary people down there.  People who might hurt you."

One of the younger boys tilted his head, stepping back slightly as Fyrenn rose to all fours, and donned his helmet.

"Won't they hurt you too?"

Fyrenn reached over his shoulder and tapped his scabbard.  He gave the young boy a knowing wink.

"Not if I hurt them first."





Fyrenn spent several minutes circling his destination, simply taking in the scope of the engineering feats on display.

Thought much of Manhattan's port lay silent for the first time in centuries, it was not difficult to imagine the din of activity that would normally fill the air.  

The majority of the actual mega-structure was underground, in the form of thousands of acres of warehouse space.  Nonetheless, much of the cargo had to complete its journey aboard trucks, or heavy lift VTOLs.

To facilitate the transfer, hundreds of immense parking-lot sized elevators studded a six by twelve block area abutting the docks-proper.

Adjoining the vast space on one side was a series of loading bays for trucks.  On the opposite side, there were two dozen large VTOL pads.  Each duracrete octagon was ringed in bright red marker strobes.

Fyrenn dipped and wheeled, easily picking out a set of rusted stairs tucked into a hidden culvert near the edge of the landing pads.

He decided that he didn't trust the flaking, twisted structure to hold his weight, instead opting to close his wings sharply at the last minute, alighting in the gravel at the bottom of the culvert.

The Gryphon froze, and examined his surroundings carefully.  He had no desire to disturb any potentially useful imprints in the damp, muddy surface.

Gingerly, Fyrenn picked his way down the concrete gash in the earth, sweeping his eyes back and forth over every single granule of mud, and every tiny piece of gravel.  The first ten yards yielded only a few rusted bolts, two pieces of shattered formless plastic, and the positive side of a burst micro-capacitor.

A moment later, however, Fyrenn found what he had been hoping to see.  Three distinct sets of imprints.

The first and closest set were obviously the hoof prints of a small Pony.  The other two were removed by several more yards.  Fyrenn carefully stepped as close as he dared, and dipped his head to examine the impressions.

Encouragingly, the footprints seemed to have been made not by the thick boots of pilots or maintenance workers, but by two small sets of light running shoes with deteriorating soles.

The red Gryphon smiled slightly, muttering under his breath.

"Even ghosts leave foot prints..."

He carefully followed the tracks, noting that the distance between each imprint increased, and the depth proportions altered significantly.  The shoes' owners had been running, and at quite a respectable clip.

The prints predictably came to an end at the mouth of a metal drainage pipe.  The aperture was several sizes too small for an adult Human, let alone an adult Gryphon.

Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head slowly.

"Clever girls."

He sat back on his haunches, and stared thoughtfully down into the darkness of the metal tube.

"What are you running from?"
> Chapter 38
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 27th, Gregorian Calendar

"There is nothing quite like trying to convince Humans to be organized in the middle of a crisis."

Neyla snorted, and raised an eyebrow as Varan spoke.  She tossed back a glass of juice, and shook her head.

"What about trying to convince Humans, Ponies, Gryphons, and two Dragons to work together under the same organizational system?"

Fyrenn snorted as he finished the last of his synth-meat.

"You try spending all day crawling through scummy abandoned ventilation tubing.  There are some crazy sickos down there you know..."

Carradan smiled, and slurped his coffee, intentionally magnifying the sound.

"Yeah yeah.  Quit your whining.  I have to corral the press, and you ain't seen scummy until you try to convince a guy dead-set on making his deadline that he's gotta play by the rules."

Kephic chuckled, and nudged the Pegasus lightly.

"I imagine this sheds new light on just how lucky you were to survive your first encounter with us."

Carradan sniffed, and glanced away.

"Oh come on.  I was never *that* deluded."

Varan didn't even glance up as he interjected.

"Yes you were."

Skye chuckled as she levitated the last of her haycakes.

"He still is if you ask me."

Fyrenn rolled his eyes and sighed, starting slowly on his loaf of bread.  In between bites, he spoke absently, his gaze wandering across the busy confines of the room.

"I wouldn't say he's deluded.  He's just a little insane."

Stan grinned up at the red Gryphon, and raised an eyebrow.

"Gee.  I wonder where I picked that up.  You people are a terrible influence, you know that?  I never had so much as a traffic citation before you came along, and now I spend half my nights frog-marching through the backwoods in twenty six pounds of armor plating, *looking* for things that wanna suck out my brains through my schnoz."

Neyla smiled slightly, and finished the last of her meat, rising slowly as she licked the edges of her beak clean.

"Admit it though;  The hunt has a certain charm.  Even for a Pony."

Carradan glared for a moment, then shrugged, his gaze softening.

"Yeeeeah.  Well...  I'm still convinced it's just an adrenaline addiction."

Fyrenn sighed, and rose to all fours himself, stretching his wings slightly and yawning.

"Speaking of the hunt, wish me fair fortune and deep tracks.  I think I'm onto something, tenuous as it may be."

The group nodded collectively.  Neyla spoke as she turned to make her way across the room.

"Sentinels are taught that the Hunt is nine tenths instinct.  Yours are good, so don't let that intellect of yours get in the way."

Carradan's muzzle wrinkled in a manufactured expression of confusion.

"He has intellect?!"





Fyrenn found himself torn between a vague sense of encouragement, and strong twinge of desperation.

The previous day's findings could be construed as a positive development, but questions and doubts nagged incessantly at the back of his mind.  Experience told him that two sets of footprints was very little to go on.  His gut told him that he should be grateful to have even that.

He started his efforts by returning to the culvert.  He had already memorized the distinctive qualities of the shoes' markings, but he felt there was more to be gained by examining the space itself in detail.

Fyrenn did his best to profile the location, cataloguing everything that defined it tactically and architecturally.  A long flat running surface.  Multiple entry and exit points of various size.  An opening to the sky.  Proximity to an industrial facility.

The Gryphon paced back and forth for nearly half an hour, trying to emulate his quarry's state of mind, based on the evidence;  Fear.  Paranoia.  Drive to stay on the move.  Suppressed desire for external contact.

Finally, Fyrenn turned to the tiny shaft that the two runners had used as their exit route.  He stood for a moment, carefully cementing its proportions in his mind.

Then he spread his wings, and took to the air, circling at a leisurely pace two dozen stories above the site.

Fyrenn knew he would never fit down the pipe, but he also knew its exact dimensions, and starting point.  From there, it was trivial to calculate the possible points where the runners' path would intersect more accessible structures and locations.

There were a dozen possibilities.  Fyrenn carefully approached each, and examined it with the same dedication and care as he had expended on the culvert.  As he had both feared, and expected, there was no real evidence to indicate which route the runners might have taken.

He found he could eliminate over half the potential avenues with simple logical consideration.  They were simply non-viable choices to anyone fleeing pursuit, with any kind of experience in running and hiding.

That still left Fyrenn with four possible routes.  A drainage pipe, two maintenance tubes, and a dis-used subway tunnel.

He took to the air once more, circling lazily from point to point as he tried to determine a single likely course.

The edges of his beak turned upward slightly.  The drainage pipe was likely prone to flooding.  Fyrenn knew that if he were stuck with deteriorating footwear, he would avoid soaked surfaces as much as possible.

Wet feet inside tight shoes led to blisters, and blisters were a runner's enemy.

In a blinding moment of purely instinctual guesswork, Fyrenn tucked his wings, and dipped towards the mouth of the subway tunnel.

The world canted, elongated, and then abruptly snapped back, descending into shadows as Fyrenn flared his wings, and alighted in the mouth of the tunnel.  He tapped absently at the rusted bars of the rails, and inhaled the scent of the structure.

Concrete dust, oxidization, engine lubricant, and warm metal blended together to generate a truly unique aroma.

Fyrenn smiled slightly, mumbling to himself as he set off at a sedate pace.

"I always wondered what the inside of these looked like..."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fourth Month, Twenty Eight Day, Celestial Calendar

"Sister!"

Celestia found herself nearly crushed in a blur of deep blue fur and wings as her sibling dashed forward into an unusually passionate expression of her sororal affections.

The Solar Monarch returned the embrace, savoring the rare moment of emotional release.  The Alicorn almost felt as if she could shed the pervading aches and pains of her drained state for a fleeting instant.

As Luna pulled away and re-composed her normally stoic visage, Celestia stared off the edge of the reception pad.

Canterlot was buzzing with activity.  The skyline of the city was a remarkable and vaguely amusing sight.  Nearly every window was draped with pieces of tarp, curtains, or covered over with boards to keep out rain.

Pegasi darted to and fro carrying panes of glass, large and small, while a veritable army of other Ponies worked to install the new windows as swiftly as possible.

Celestia brought her gaze to rest on her sister, and her muzzle turned down slightly.

"Are you well?  You must have endured considerable strain..."

Luna tried to force a reassuring smile, but something dark clouded her visage in spite of her best efforts.

"I am sound enough of body.  But I fear that my mind has failed us all."

Celestia's gaze narrowed, and she stepped forward, lowering her voice slightly to avoid broadcasting to the nearest guards.

"What has transpired?"

Luna's gaze shifted left, then right, then down.  She shuffled one hoof slightly, then inclined her head towards the double-doors leading into the palace.

"I think this conversation is best saved for a private place."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 27th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn sighed, yawned, and stretched each wing in turn.  He glanced up at the evening sky, and paused to take in the strange panoply of colors.  In the west teal and gray, in the east deep orange, yellow, and even blue.

He paused, and took stock of the surrounding terrain.  The subway tunnel had eventually led him to a series of large switching tracks, a maintenance tube, and then several hours of circling aimlessly through catacombs.

Finally, he had come upon an exit vent.  The aperture opened onto a large concrete tarmac that had once been a staging area for maintenance and fire trucks.

Fyrenn examined the space carefully, and selected his exit route.  As he leapt deftly from the vent down to the duracrete surface, he decided that he wouldn't extend his search more than an hour beyond sundown.

At that point his lead would, in his estimation, become a cold trail.  He would have to start over.

The thought made Fyrenn wince.  The idea of having to start from scratch on such an impossibly vast search grid made him physically recoil.

The red Gryphon ambled slowly towards the nearest vehicle exit ramp, sweeping the ground in the vain hope of sighting some sort of footprint, or disturbed loose item.  He mumbled aloud as he reached the edge of the ramp, shaking his head.

"I hate tracking on artificial surfaces..."

As he placed his front left claw on the ramp, Fyrenn paused, and reflexively twisted one ear to the left.  A long moment passed.

The Gryphon prepared to continue, but froze as the sound reached him once more.  Once could have been anything.  The squeal of settling metal, or the scrape of a misaligned fan blade.  Twice was, however, something Fyrenn could not ignore.

He pivoted his entire body to the left, and slackened his stance.  Varan had taught him that the secret to absolute silence on paw and claw was to remain loose, and carefully consider each step.

As he approached the alleyway from whence the waft of sound had emanated, he caught another resonant hint of the noise.  Surety flooded his mind.  It was definitely a voice.

Fyrenn quickened his pace as much as he dared, effortlessly traversing the alleyway in a matter of moments with two cat-like bounds.

The small gulf between structures exited onto a slightly wider causeway which itself terminated in another series of alleys.  Fyrenn's gaze immediately fixated on the space's lone inhabitant.

He froze, even neglecting to draw breath as he stared downwards at the figure in the shadows.

The girl couldn't have been older than nine.  Her stark blond hair spilled across her shoulders in an unkempt and tangled wave that looked as if it were washed in gutter water, and trimmed with a rusty razor.

Her clothing was battered, stained, and torn.  There was a large gash in the back of her shirt that exposed a series of metallic fin-like structures grafted directly into her spine.

What struck Fyrenn the hardest, however, was her voice;  Clear, strong, sweet, and melancholy.  It reminded him of a stingingly cold breath of mountain air.

The child was singing softly, and the melody was familiar.  Fyrenn listened through the first verse without so much as inhaling, trying to place the origin.

At last recognized it as a song his mother used to sing to him as she tucked him in every night.  He hadn't heard the tune in decades, but the words came flooding back to him as he listened to the child.

She absently toyed with the edge of a pebble, making her way seamlessly into the second verse.

"In the silence, you won't let go.  In the questions, your truth will hold.  Your great love will lead me through; You are the peace in my troubled sea.  Ooooh, you are the peace, in my troubled sea!"

As the words poured forth, rolling off the sides of the causeway, and back into the space like eddies in a brook, Fyrenn leapt silently from his perch to the ground below.

As the last of the verse echoed away, he steeled himself, and conjured up the depths of his memory.  The girl tensed as she heard him inhale, turning slowly and cautiously as his own voice filled the silence.

"My lighthouse! My Lighthouse! Shining in the darkness; I will follow you!"

A moment of stark silence followed as the child stared up at him, her wide eyes filled to the brim with fear, hope, awe, and questions.

She took a tentative step forward, and then hesitantly, delicately, offered up the next part of the refrain.

"My Lighthouse, My Lighthouse..."

As her voice gained strength, and surety, Fyrenn joined her, doing his best to provide the right harmonic notes as they finished the refrain together.  With each word, the young girl moved closer, gradually reducing the distance.

"I will trust the promise; You will carry me safe to shore!"

As the last words of the refrain died away, the child finally came within arm's reach.  She smiled slightly, and reached up with one hand, brushing the side of Fyrenn's face lightly, as if to verify that he wasn't an illusion.

He offered his best reassuring smile, and lowered himself into an unimposing recumbent position, resting his head on his crossed forelegs, and stretching out his hind legs to the rear.

The girl returned the smile shyly, and sat cross-legged, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Fyrenn's.

"You have a nice voice."

The red Gryphon snorted, and shook his head.

"I don't really think so...  But thanks.  You know that's one of my favorites.  My mother used to sing it to me before bedtime every night."

The child's face wrinkled in confusion.  Fyrenn chuckled as he realized what was bothering her.

"I wasn't born with...  All of...  This," He gestured expansively to his wings, beak, tail, and claws, "I was a Human for a long time.  Then they gave me a special magic---"

The girl cut him off with a wave of her hand, "A thaumatic suspension laced with programmable nanoparticles, sedatives, and protein filaments.  I know what Conversion is."

Fyrenn cocked his head, and his eyes widened.

"You know a lot for someone so young."

The girl shrugged, and traced cracks in the pavement idly with one finger, breaking eye contact and staring down at the duracrete.

"I want to go for Conversion.  But Sonya says we can't.  I'm not old enough."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and blinked.

"Sonya is...?"

The girl smiled, "My older sister.  I'm April."

The red Gryphon smiled again, and sighed.

"I'm Fyrenn."

April made eye contact once more, and returned the smile, though Fyrenn thought he detected a hint of pained sadness behind the expression.

"It's nice to meet you Fyrenn.  I don't get to meet much of anyone.  Sonya says we can't have friends.  We tried once..."

April's voice trailed off.  Fyrenn drew his own conclusions from her tone.  She glanced up, and offered an apologetic frown.

"I'm really not supposed to be talking to you either.  I'll get in trouble, and you might too."

Fyrenn waved one claw absently.

"I'm always in trouble.  It goes with the territory.  Or did you think the sword was just for show?"

April giggled, and held a finger up to her lips.

"Ssssshhhh!  The troopers are never far away."

Fyrenn's gaze hardened.  His eyes narrowed and his ears flattened.  The muscles in his wings and hind legs tensed.

"Troopers?"

April nodded.

"They make sure we don't rest too much.  Or get lazy.  Or make friends.  Or stop running.  We have to keep running.  And hiding.  It's how we learn."

The red Gryphon inclined his head, doing his best to pour a tone of coaxing familiarity into his voice.

"Learn what?"

In response, April squinted slightly, and raised one hand.  A dull whine filled the air.  At first, Fyrenn was bemused, until he realized that the small pebble had flown off the pavement, and was now doing lazily loop-the-loops around his head.

He inhaled sharply, and plucked the rock out of its flight path, noting a slight resistance as he did so.

"How is that possible?"

April pointed to a pair of tiny metallic implants above her eyebrows, then turned her body so Fyrenn could once again see the metal ribbing protruding from her spine.

As she spoke, she tried to remain nonchalant, but Fyrenn could detect a hint of anger, pain, and even abject hatred in her voice.

"The spikes.  I think they use programmable nanoparticles too.  They connect parts of my brain, and my blood, to an electromagnetic frequency amplifier.  At least, that's what it looks like.  I don't always have lots of time to search the internet, and sometimes I can't get a charging port for my DaTab."

Fyrenn exhaled, and shook his head slowly.

"Haven't you ever gone to a Policeman about this?  Or come to a shelter?"

April shook her head adamantly, a mask of horror twisting her lips and eyes.  Fyrenn winced.  He had seen the expression before, on soldiers whose minds had broken from the trauma.  It had no place on the face of a child.

"We can't go to anyone.  The troopers will kill them!"

She paused, and pointed to the end of the alleyway.

"You should go.  Sonya will be angry, and the troopers might come after you too..."

Fyrenn took his turn to shake his head adamantly.

"I've faced worse.  Small men in their shiny little metal suits do not scare me."

April winced, her voice taking on a pleading aspect.

"You don't understand, they have guns, and drones, and---"

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and cut her off gently.

"Look at me.  Do you think I would have any problem ripping one of their drones in half and sending the pieces back in little boxes?"

The Gryphon reached out, and gingerly, but firmly, took April's hand.  He brought the tiny palm first to the cool, sharp sides of his talons.  Then his beak.  Then the rippling muscles on the leading edge of one wing.

Finally, he laid the tiny hand to rest on the feathers of his chest, letting April feel the cacophonous roar of his many-chambered heart.

"I am not so easy to kill."

April shook her head again, and frowned.

"But Sonya is going to---"

Fyrenn interrupted again, pulling the child close to the comforting warmth of his chest.

"You let me worry about Sonya.  All you need to know is that I can protect you, and I can protect her.  You can stop running if you come with me."

For a moment, Fyrenn thought April would object.  She stared up at him with pleading eyes, and he stared back with as much surety as he could.

At last, she collapsed into his chest, stretching her arms to their limit to pull him into a tiny embrace.

Fyrenn wrapped both forelegs, and both wings around April, enveloping her in a protective encasement of red feathers and fur, gold scales, and gray armor plates.

She whispered quietly up into one ear.

"Will you really help us?"

Fyrenn nodded firmly, "You, and anyone else like you.  I have good friends with kind hearts, sharp swords, and strong influence.  Whoever these 'troopers' are...  I'm going to slice every last one of them to ribbons and send them home in matching boxes."

The red Gryphon stiffened as a new sound reached his ears.  April felt the change, and pulled away, glanced down the alleyway furtively.

She sighed, smiled, and took off towards the emerging figure at a dead run.

Fyrenn rose, and crossed the distance sedately.  He arrived to find April smothering an older girl in a tight embrace of her waist and legs.  He smiled, and dipped his head in greeting.

"Sonya I presume?"

The older girl pushed April into a protected position behind her, and raised both hands menacingly.

"Who are you?!"

Fyrenn raised a claw.

"Relax.  My name is Fyrenn.  I can help you."

Soya glowered, and squeezed both hands, generating a high pitched whine and a peculiar distortion in midair.

The red Gryphon remained unaffected, raising one eyebrow impassively.

"That isn't likely to do you much good with my kind.  You might have better luck throwing something at me, but I'd just as soon you didn't."

April forced her way out from behind her sister, and ran to Fyrenn, ducking into a protected position under one wing.

"He can help us Sonya!  Please don't be mad!"

Sonya hissed, and beckoned sharply, her brow knitting as she glanced over one shoulder.

"We don't have *time* for this April!  We've settled this point already, and if you---"

Fyrenn interrupted the tirade with an explosive blast from his pistol.  The red beam snaked within inches of Sonya's right ear, travelling on for several more yards before striking its intended target directly in the visor.

The soldier's head pulped in a cloud of bone and kevlar dust.

Fyrenn drew his sword in his right claw, switching the laser pistol to his left with a deft toss.

"Down the causeway, take the first left into the drainage pipe, and wait for me on the other side!"

April and Sonya stared at the dead soldier in abject shock.  Fyrenn allowed a harsh edge to creep into his voice.

"NOW!"

The pure force of the command seemed to galvanize the sisters.  The pair vanished as quickly as Fyrenn had ever seen a Human run.

He pivoted his sword in a graceful arc, bringing it into a defensive position as he placed a withering pistol blast directly into the eye of the next soldier to round the corner.

Fyrenn realized the weapon would do him little good at extreme range if the fighting thickened, so he cycled it to its highest power setting, discharged it once more into the chest of an oncoming trooper, then tossed it aside.

As he leapt forward, sword extended, to impale the man through his shoulder joint, he examined his equipment.

The soldier's vest and shoulder pads were completely unmarked, and jet black in color.  His half-helm was similarly constructed, and had a semi-transparent visor that covered half of the face.

Fyrenn recognized it as a slight variation on standard Eathgov medium urban pacification armor.

The man's weapon was also clearly government issue.  A new-model RAC-7 with the full tactical attachment suite.  Fyrenn calmly relieved him of the carbine as his corpse dropped to the pavement, raising the weapon in his right claw, and switching his sword to his left.

In the span it had taken him to disarm and eliminate his opponent, five more soldiers had dashed into the causeway.  Fyrenn easily sidestepped their first volley, discharging the grenade launcher at the bottom of the RAC as he did so.

The small frag device detonated on impact, partially damaging two of the soldiers' chest plates.

By the time the other three men were prepared to react, Fyrenn had already split the first from shoulder to thigh with his sword.  The second he riddled with an entire clip of the RAC's armor piercing munitions.

The third had time to raise his weapon, but by then Fyrenn was already on top of him.  The man swiftly found his own weapon's stock firmly embedded in his neck.

Fyrenn dispatched the last two soldiers just as they regained their footing, hurling his sword in a glittering arc that bisected the first man's helmet perfectly, and finishing the second with a series of lateral swipes from his talons.

He raised his left claw just in time to snag the hilt of his sword as the soldier fell lifelessly away, and wrench the weapon free.

"That is *impressive!*"

Fyrenn kicked the nearest RAC up from the duracrete, snatching it out of the air with his right claw, and pivoting to bring the voice's source into his sight picture.

The man stood smugly on the upper lip of the causeway, flanked by several more troopers.  April's stiff unmoving form was rooted directly in front of him at gunpoint.

As Fyrenn adjusted his aim to avoid hitting the child, the man raised a finger and waggled it.

"Ah ah ah.  I wouldn't.  I've set her failsafe.  Her sister's too, if you care.  If my vital signs terminate, or if I just think I've had enough, and I flip the switch...  You'll be scraping up what's left of these little beauties into hazmat sample tubes.  Am I making my point clearly enough for you?"

Fyrenn tightened his grip on the weapon, idly twirling his sword with his left claw.

"Yes, and then what?  You kill them, and there is nothing to stop me putting the last five rounds in my clip through your left eye.  Trust me when I say that you can't outrun me, and I'm not in the habit of missing."

The man threw up both hands, and shrugged.

"Oorrrrrr...  I could just kill one of them right now if you refuse to comply.  I know you don't have the resolve to watch them both dissolve one after the other.  Those pleading little eyes would tear you up.  And trust *me* when I say that your five little executioners can't outrun my failsafe."

The man gestured, and Fyrenn glanced swiftly over one shoulder to see more soldiers carefully escorting Sonya to the opposite lip of the causeway.

The man sighed, straightened his jacket, and sniffed.

"It smells like rain.  I really don't feel like standing around out here in a downspout, so I'll give you to the count of three to put down your weapons.  Then we're going to take a short ride back to my place, and we can talk about the situation."

He shrugged, and one hand casually strayed towards his pocket.

"I mean, unless you want to have some real fun.  I'm not shy if you want to tango.  One..."

Fyrenn paused to examine his options.  He knew he could make the shot easily.  Five rounds through the center of the man's throat before the word 'two' could even leave his lips.  He wouldn't even have time to flinch.

The other soldiers would certainly open fire on him, but that was of no concern.  They would need ten times as many men to have even the tiniest hope of landing just one shot accurately.

More concerning was the idea that the men might fire on April and Sonya.  Fyrenn wasn't sure their reflexes were sharp enough to evade so many incoming rounds at such close range.

Lastly, and chillingly, there was the threat of the 'failsafe.'  For all Fyrenn knew, it might be a bluff.  But if it was, it was certainly the most well played bluff he had ever encountered.  In his experience no Human, even the most broken and psychotic, could bluff so calmly when faced with such a sure death.

More tellingly still, Sonya and April were frozen in place, their expressions locked in mortified positions of terror and hate.  Their behavior implied strongly that the man wasn't bluffing in the slightest.

All things considered, Fyrenn knew there really were no options.  Not from his standpoint.

He calmly let the RAC fall to the pavement, turned his sword point-down, and drove it several inches into the pavement.

He held up both claws, and tilted his head.

"You're welcome to relax, if you think that's wise.  But you can't remove the weapons God gave me.  And if I were you, that would give me pause."

The man nodded, and gestured sharply with one hand.

"I've seen the briefing videos big red.  I know what your kind is like.  I also know that you'll do anything to protect these two precious little dolls.  So I'm only gonna pause long enough to remind you that if I die, they die.  Instantly.  And it really is just that simple."

He paused, then beckoned to Fyrenn.

"Come on up.  And bring that sword.  We wouldn't want anyone to start asking questions.  That would be bad for their health."

Fyrenn yanked the weapon free, and vaulted to the lip of the causeway in one elongated maneuver.

The man seemed unfazed.  He gestured to the back of an open APC, as his men frog marched Sonya and April into the compartment.

"Where are my manners.  I'm Minos."

Fyrenn pressed his sword into the hands of the nearest soldier, brushed past Minos gruffly, and made his way towards the rear of the unmarked troop transport.

Minos broke into a jog, and came up beside him.

"Now now.  It isn't nice to keep me at a disadvantage.  Who are you?"

He extended his hand to stop Fyrenn.  The red Gryphon growled, and before anyone could react, snagged the man by his shoulders, digging his talons deep into the weak spots of the armor, and the flesh beneath.

As a symphony of released safeties assailed his ears, Fyrenn pressed his beak as close to Minos' face as he could, speaking in a low growl that practically vibrated the pavement beneath his back paws.

"I'm death, and I'm here to collect your body.  It's just a matter of when, and where."

Fyrenn released Minos into a groaning heap on the pavement, and squeezed into the back of the APC, tossing off his last words as the door irised shut.

"It really is just that simple."
> Chapter 39
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 27th, Gregorian Calendar

The trip was spent in absolute silence.  Fyrenn took up the majority of the rear of the vehicle.  What little space remained was occupied by Sonya, April, and four guards.

The former spent her time curled into a scowling bundle, directing angry death glares at the guards and Fyrenn by turns, while the latter kept their weapons trained on Fyrenn's head at all times.  April opted to spend the trip nestled in the crook of Fyrenn's neck.

Fyrenn maintained constant eye contact with the guards, never once blinking, shifting his gaze each time one of the men broke contact from the strain.  By the time the vehicle braked to a complete stop, Fyrenn could tell they were, one and all, shaken.

The door of the vehicle opened out onto a large warehouse space.  Fyrenn judged, based on his sense of direction and speed during the trip, that it was located in the north-west of the island.

Minos stepped around the side of the APC and snapped his fingers repeatedly.

"Out.  And shed that armor."

Fyrenn offered April an encouraging half-smile, then rose, and strode slowly off the back ramp.  He took his time removing the armor, carefully ensuring he undid each cinch and clip with as much wasted effort as possible.

As each piece came off, he stacked it neatly in a pile, pausing every so often to straighten the pile and stretch.

As he finished, Minos sighed, winced, and worked his injured shoulder.

"Do you enjoy being a difficult son of a bitch?"

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded.

"To annoy you?  I could enjoy watching paint dry.  You know you should watch your language.  On the Indianapolis, we used to keep a swear jar..."

Minos waved a hand dismissively.

"We'll see how you feel about the tone of my words after we're finished here," he waved to a pair of guards, "Take the adorable little pukes to the holding cell.  And find Squish for me."

Minos began to walk down the length of the enormous space, paused, and gestured to Fyrenn.

"Come along now.  You'll like Squish.  I think you two could really bond over your love of sadomasochism."

Fyrenn snorted, "Well then you and he must be the best of friends."

Minos shrugged as he approached a large piece of industrial equipment.  Fyrenn judged it to be considerably newer than the other detritus littering the space.  From what he could tell, it appeared to be a hydraulic press, of the kind used to smooth out raw ingots for the rest of the armor plating process.

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and rapped on the side of the machine's large vertical column with one claw.

" 'Squish' huh?  I think I can fill in the blanks...  But I think I can save you a lot of wasted time and breath.  That thing doesn't have enough power to break any of my bones.  They use it to roll out flat ingots after the material has been pre-heated and softened."

A new voice joined the conversation, followed by the scraggly form of its owner as he stepped around the side of the machine.

"Yeah, but this here devil will lay down more 'n enough PSI to put you, my feathered friend, in a world o' hurt."

Fyrenn chuckled.  The man looked to be in his mid forties.  His face was covered with a poorly-shaven beard, and a wide, thick, tangled moustache that had probably not been washed within the calendar year.

The red Gryphon shook his head.

"I've been shot.  I've had pieces of bone embedded in parts of me I didn't know could hurt.  I had a grenade go off in my face at one point, and I spent a pretty big chunk of my life with the worst migraines you can imagine as a result.  Whatever you want me to tell you, I'm not gonna tell you.  My rapport with pain probably goes back to before you two even knew how to load a pistol."

Squish gestured to the press, and snickered.

"Lotsa folks say that.  I ain't never met one that didn't start to cry uncle when he heard his bones begin to crunch.  I'ma thinkin to myself that you bird-brains can't be all that different."

Fyrenn chuckled grimly, narrowing his eyes and taking a step forward.  Squish flinched.

"You 'think' wrong."

Minos rolled his eyes, and sighed.

"Alright.  Here's how this works.  You tell me who else knows about this.  Who sent you, why, and what do they know?  If I like the answer, you can join your new best friends in the holding tank until I decide how to proceed.  If not..."

Squish chuckled, and mimed a pressing action with his hands, making a series of vulgar squelching sounds with his mouth.

Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head once more.

"You don't need to know who sent me, why, or what they know.  All you need to know is that if you surrender now, I'll settle for slicing off your legs, gouging out your eyes, and eating your fingers, and then the courts can have you.  Either way, if you keep me here, there are a dozen or more high level operators who are expecting me to report in, and they will tear this city apart to its foundations to find me.  When they do, they won't be interested in prisoners, if you catch my drift."

Minos gestured to the press, and crossed his arms.

"Put your right wing in."

The Gryphon snorted, and rolled his eyes.

"Make me."

Minos withdrew a hardened DaTab from his jacket, and flicked out the device's large, blocky antenna.

He poised his thumb over the central panel, and jerked his head towards the press.

"Put your right wing into the press Gryphon.  I'm out of patience, and your littlest friend is out of chances."

Fyrenn tensed, then glanced down at Squish.

"I'm an honorable fighter.  So I think it's fair that you get your first, and last warning; If you start this by putting my wing in that press, then I will end it by putting your head in that press.  Understand me?"

Squish chuckled, and threw up his hands.

"Where do you find these jokers Minos?"

The man sighed, and tapped his foot, glaring at Fyrenn.

"Are you so juvenile that you're going to make me count again?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and carefully, with no hesitation, placed his right wing into the press.

"No.  But I am just juvenile enough to imagine a great many ways to kill you very, very slowly.  And that just because you experiment on children.  We haven't even begun to get to the punishment for touching me without permission.  That last guy who did that?  I ripped one of his arms off, and tied it around his neck like a tourniquet until he died of asphyxiation."

Minos snapped his fingers.  Squish shifted to the side, and pressed a series of buttons on the control pad.  The press whirred to life, building up immense fluidic pressure in a series of suspended cylinders.

With a sharp hiss, the pressure was transferred to the pressing plate.  Fyrenn winced as his wing was compressed harshly into a painfully contorted position.

Minos stepped closer, and leaned in.

"Who sent you, why, and what do they know?"

Fyrenn mustered a slight smile, and grunted, gritting his beak against the pain.

"I'm sorry.  All of our operators are busy.  We'll need to place you on hold.  Please stay on the line.  Your displeasure is *very* important to us."

Minos gestured again, and Squish cackled as he depressed several more icons on the control panel's glowing face.  The press thrummed again, and contracted several inches.

Fyrenn hissed as he felt several of his bones scrape against one another in a highly unnatural manner.  Pain shot down his wing, through the joint, and into his ribs like streaks of lightning.

Minos threw up his hands.

"This is not my fault you know.  You could tell me what I need to know, and I could make it stop."

Fyrenn growled.

"I'm sorry, could you repeat the question?  I missed it in amongst the idiocy."

Minos glowered, and gestured sharply.

"Again."

Squish chuckled.

"Sure thing boss."

The press shuddered as it met further resistance from Fyrenn's bones.  His wing squealed in protest, and the Gryphon couldn't help but let out another loud hiss.

Minos leaned in, and held up his DaTab.

"Who sent you?  Why? And What do they know?"

Fyrenn inclined his head slightly, "You had better pray they find us sooner rather than later.  For your sake.  Because if they don't kill you...  I'm going to cut you, like a savory roast.  And I'm going to start with your--AAAAAAUUUUUUGGGGGGHHH"

Fyrenn let out something in between an Eagle's screech, and a choked cry of pain, as Minos reached over Squish's shoulder, and depressed the control panel once again.

The sensation was better described as agony;  Bones and nerves ground against each other, causing light and sound to explode inside Fyrenn's brain.  The nerves that normally gave him such an advantage through their sensitivity to changes in the wind and pressure were now his worst enemy.

He felt as if the right side of his body had been set on fire.

Minos leaned in, and screamed into the Gryphon's face, thrusting the DaTab at him.  Spittle flew from the man's mouth as he lost control.

"WHO SENT YOU YOU BASTARD?!?!  WHAT DO THEY KNOW?!!  WHAT. DO. THEY. KNOW?!?!"

Fyrenn groaned and winced.  Words had somehow become a herculean effort.

"You...  Know that if you kill one of them...  I won't be able to stop myself from killing you...  In this state...  No matter what the consequences are..."

Minos slammed one fist down on the panel, and the press contracted a final time.

Fyrenn could hear his bones squealing, even over the piercing shriek coming from his beak.  The sound was so high pitched, and loud, that Squish fell to the floor, his fingers in his ears, writhing in pain of his own.

Minos fell back and covered his own ears.

Fyrenn wished he could cover his as he heard the loud 'SNAP.'

All he could do was continue to scream.





Aston's head snapped upwards reflexively as she heard the loud rap on her door.  Seeing a familiar face through the transparent plexiglass slab, she gestured and glanced back down at her terminal.

"Come on in."

Neyla ducked into the office, and crossed the space between the door and the desk with a miniature bound.  Her expression pulled Aston away from her work with the force of its urgency.

The Commander's face wrinkled in concern, and her eyes narrowed.

"You look like you're about to ruin my day."

Neyla scowled, and gestured over her shoulder.

"Fyrenn is missing."

Aston sat back, and folded her arms, mimicking the Gryphon's scowl.

"You mean he hasn't checked in?"

Neyla shook her head adamantly, "It is coming up on midnight.  I made sure he understood, before he left, that he needed to check in, the same as every other operational fire-team, at five hour intervals.  His last check-in was seven hours ago."

The Commander's eyes narrowed again, and she jerked a thumb at her sliver of a window.

"You sure he isn't radio-silent for a good reason?  He told me his tasking was strictly off-books, so is it really that surprising if he has to go quiet for a little while?"

Neyla shook her head once more, and flared her wings reflexively in agitation.

"He hasn't missed a single check-in before this point.  In three days of work.  He never said anything about going...  What is the phrase... 'Off-comm,' and he has never remained out this late before.  This doesn't *feel* right Commander."

Aston thumped the fingers of her right hand against the desk in sequence for several tense moments.  At last, she nodded slowly.

"I can't spare a lot of people, not at this stage...  You can have twelve ConSec troopers, and two VTOLs."

Neyla's expression sharpened.  Aston held up both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

"I am assuming Kephic and Varan will be with you at the very least, so I'm not offering you anything more.  Yet.  This place is enough of a disaster area as it is.  I can't be hemorrhaging more personnel."

Neyla sighed, and her expression softened.  She nodded, and rose to leave.  As she pressed the keypad, and the door hissed open, Aston offered a parting word of encouragement.

"Neyla?  Make sure he gets home in one piece.  It would be a crying shame if I never got the chance to dress him down over this."

The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow.

"You presume there will be anything left to reprimand once *I* am finished with him."





Fyrenn winced, and hissed as one of the guards jostled his right wing.  Fire shot down the bones and nerves, triggering a primal release in his head, and his chest.

As he stepped forward into the proffered cell, the Gryphon wrenched backwards sharply with his good wing, hitting home directly in the center of the offending man's visor.  The plexiglass shattered, embedding a million tiny shards in the soldier's nose, mouth, and eyes, destroying the latter.

The man screamed, dropping to his knees and clutching as his face.  The second guard glowered as Fyrenn stepped into the cell.  He slammed the door shut with as much force as he could muster, then knelt to see to his blinded comrade.

Fyrenn listened, stock still, as the screams receded down the corridor.  As the sound died out, he collapsed into a heap on the floor, breathing heavily to try and slow his racing heart.

A form shifted, dislodging some concrete shards, and April emerged from the shadows in the room's back left corner.

She stared at Fyrenn's twisted right wing, and winced, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Did...  Did they break it?"

Fyrenn let out a small chuckle, and shook his head, inhaling deeply as he tried to catch his breath.

"No, not exactly.  They're too stupid to realize that their press isn't powerful enough to overcome the tensile strength of my bones.  They dislocated the center joint."

April stepped forward cautiously, and laid one hand delicately on the wing.  She withdrew it instantly as Fyrenn winced.

"What does that mean?"

Sonya spoke up from her position in the corner.

"It means it hurts more, but the damage is actually a lot less serious."

Fyrenn nodded, "Right, and right again.  It also means you two are drafted."

April's face wrinkled in confusion, and she tilted her head.

Fyrenn gestured to the wing.

"Any way you look at it, I won't be flying for a day or two at least.  But right now, the joint is still dislocated.  If I leave it that way, it will continue to hurt more, and I risk more serious nerve and bone damage.  The sooner it sets, the sooner the healing process begins.  And besides, I need to be able to fold it."

April backed away hesitantly.

"I've never set a joint before..."

Sonya rose, and sighed.

"I have.  Though never one this big.  I'm not sure exactly how it's supposed to lock, so..."

As she trailed off, Fyrenn unfurled his left wing, interjecting quietly.

"Lucky for you, I have a spare."

Sonya reached out hesitantly, and Fyrenn jerked his head towards the joint.

"Go on.  I won't bite...  Well not you anyhow."

The young girl placed her hand on the feathered surface, hesitantly at first, then with more exploratory vigor.  She felt all around the bone and the joint, trying to paint a mental picture of the configuration.

Fyrenn snorted.

"You still think I can't hold my own?"

Sonya rolled her eyes, and continued to probe the bones with her right hand.

"We're stuck in here.  They're going to kill us once they find out what they want to know.  How have you made our situation any better?"

Fyrenn grinned slightly, and dug in the feathers of his neck with one claw.

"Because when Minos and I had our little heart to heart at the edge of the causeway, I swiped this."

He held up his claw triumphantly, a wafer thin silvery object catching the dim lighting filtering through the door's slight.

"It's an RFID enabled keycard.  And I'd wager good money it unlocks that door, and every other one in the building.  Right now though, I think we'd best worry about setting this joint.  Before I pass out, preferably."

Sonya nodded, and gestured to April.

"Hold this part of the wing.  Here, between the center joint, and the shoulder joint."

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded.

"And whatever you do, don't let go.  I'm going to squirm.  I'm probably going to screech just a little.  Don't let go, or we have to start this over again."

April nodded mutely, her face hardening with resolve.  Fyrenn gritted his beak as she firmly took hold of the proffered portion of his right wing.  His body cried out in protest, but he did his best to silence the warnings.

Sonya inhaled deeply, and held out both hands, as if she were grasping a bowling ball.  She grit her teeth, slowed her breathing, and squinted.  There was a long pause, and Fyrenn chuckled.

"You'll have to do it the old fashioned way."

Sonya raised an eyebrow, and moved in close to the wing joint, examining it from all angles.

"Why *don't* our amps work on you?"

Fyrenn smiled, breathing heavily.

"Gryphons' cells bear unique properties.  They can't be affected in any direct way by magic, or nanotechnology, or certain kinds of EM fields, no matter how powerful the assault.  Even beings considered by some to be gods are incapable of altering our form, even in minute ways."

The red Gryphon paused, and inclined his head, wincing as a burst of particularly sharp pain coursed through his wing.  

"That...  Has its advantages and disadvantages.  Case in point.  You will have to set me the old fashioned way.  And there isn't much they'll be able to give me for pain-killers, antibiotics, or anything to speed the healing process after the fact."

Sonya inclined her head, and grit her teeth once more.  Without warning, she snagged hold of the joint, dug in her feet, and pressed hard.

"You should have just left us alone.  Then you wouldn't need your wing set, and we wouldn't be dead."

Fyrenn hissed, and choked off a scream as it burbled up in his throat.  With a sound midway between a 'snap' and a 'click,' the bones fell back into their proper positions.  The pain instantaneously subsided to a dull roar.

Compared to the blinding spears that had been piercing his wing, shoulder, and skull, it was a massive relief.  Fyrenn breathed deeply for several seconds, once again bringing his heart rate under control.

He reached out with one claw and worked the edge of the wing gingerly, wincing as he carefully folded it, inch by inch, into a closed position.  He paused, sighed, and nodded before continuing.

"I've been dead before.  I'm fairly experienced with 'intractable' situations."

April reached down, and grasped the back right part of her pants leg.  She yanked hard, tearing off a long strip of the dull gray fabric.  Fyrenn smiled at the gesture, and took the length of cloth gingerly.  He threaded one end into his beak to hold it temporarily, and used both claws to bind his right wing snugly to his side.

After a long moment, he rose, and stretched, speaking in as up-beat a tone as he could muster.

"Good.  Now.  First things first.  What is this failsafe they keep talking about?"

The sisters exchanged pained glances.  A long silence passed before Sonya finally spoke, her voice breaking slightly.

"The same nanomachines that connect our implants to our body...  Can be used to---"

Fyrenn held up a claw, and brought her struggling sentence to a halt.

"Do you know anything about the maximum range?  Does anyone besides Minos have control over the failsafe?"

April shook her head, and muttered quietly.

"The guards have access to the remote trigger if Minos has set the failsafe.  But most of the time they'd be too afraid to use it without a direct order.  Minos scares them."

Sonya shrugged, and leaned against the wall, sighing.

"We don't really know anything about range.  They weren't exactly nice enough to hand us specifications sheets."

Fyrenn nodded silently, and stared up at the ceiling for a long moment.  He began to mumble his thoughts aloud as he paced slowly around the perimeter of the cell.

"The nanites themselves can't possibly fit long-range transponder assemblies, so range is dictated by the transmission equipment on the other end.  That means they could send the signal anywhere in the world with the right access codes... But it also means short-range jamming and field disruption could prevent the nanites from ever receiving the signal."

April hugged her knees to her chest, and exhaled slowly.

"We still have to get out of here..."

Fyrenn held up the keycard between a thumb and index talon.

"Walls, ceiling, and floor are solid concrete, and the door looks to be five inches of tritanium.  If it's designed to resist telekinesis then it would probably take me a full day, and a lot of bruised tendons to batter my way out.  Too many wasted hours.  What we need is a way to get this keycard into the locking mechanism on the other side of the door."

The red Gryphon jerked his head towards the thin window slit in the aperture.

"Your arms wouldn't fit through that, much less one of my forelegs.  Any bright ideas?"

April stood, and walked slowly to the door.  She examined the window slit for several moments, hopping up and down on one foot and tilting her head to get a view of the external locking panel.

At last she turned, and grinned at Fyrenn, holding out one hand.  He tossed her the keycard obligingly.

April stretched out both hands, holding them palm up.  Accompanied by a dull throb and a whine, the keycard rose from her right hand, and made its way up to the window slit.

Slowly, and smoothly, the thin silver wafer moved laterally out through the window and into the corridor beyond.  For several moments, the whine continued.  April remained motionless, her eyes squeezed firmly shut, her hands outstretched.

Suddenly there was a soft beep, followed by a loud metallic clanking noise.  The door gave way several inches, and the whine of April's telekinetic field evaporated.

Fyrenn smiled, and shook his head slowly, pressing one claw against the door.  The portal swung wide.

The red Gryphon chuckled, and ruffled April's hair gently with one claw.

"On the first try?  Really?  You're making the rest of us look bad."

Sonya peered cautiously around the edge of the door, then glanced back at Fyrenn.

"Well what do you suggest we do now?"

Fyrenn stepped out into the hallway, and turned one ear to listen for approaching footsteps.

"As long as we avoid Minos, we have a window of opportunity.  If we can get you two under a jamming umbrella before he realizes what's happening, then it's all over."

April gestured to the opposite end of the hallway.

"Can't we just run?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and sighed.

"Plan A was for me to fly you out.  For obvious reasons, I'm in the process of hashing out plan B as we go."

Sonya glared, and folded her arms.

"You mean you don't have a plan?"

Fyrenn rolled his eyes, and snorted.

"I never go anywhere without plan B."

Sonya raised one eyebrow, and twisted her lip in a disapproving expression of incredulity and disdain.

"Enlighten us."

Fyrenn scraped his right talons against the concrete of the floor, creating a shower of sparks, and a series of deep, menacing grooves.

"I like to keep it simple.  Move fast, and break things...  I prefer to start with skulls."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 28th, Gregorian Calendar

Neyla paused to tap the transmit button on the side of her helmet, before rising into the air on a series of powerful wing beats.

To her left, the ever-increasing whine of turboprop engines accompanied a pair of light VTOLs as they rose slowly into the pre-dawn gloom.

Further away to the west, on the opposite side of the craft, Varan and Kephic were hovering, silhouetted in profile against the halo of the Conversion Bureau's lights.

Neyla lent her voice added volume to ensure it transmitted clearly.

"I'll take the lower east side.  Albatross one will fly up Park Avenue and do a grid-search of the surrounding blocks.  Albatross two will handle everything in the north-east quadrant, starting from Lincoln park."

Kephic's voice filtered through the headset, his concern palpable even at a distance.

"Varan and I will split the remainder."

Neyla watched through the cockpit panes as the VTOL pilots both nodded.

"Albatross one, acknowledged."

"Albatross two, understood."

Aston's voice came over the comm line as the two VTOLs split formation, and darted away into the fog.

"This is a search and support mission, but beacon activation is unlikely.  Main objective was travelling alone, without a locator package.  I will do my best to run command and control support from here as I have time and resources."

Neyla grit her beak, and sharpened the flight angle of her wings, configuring them for speed, power, and minimal drag.  Manhattan transformed into a colossal wind tunnel as she got up to speed, the fog parting before her like water around the bow of a warship.

Aston spoke once more as the Bureau structure fell away to the rear.

"Should you encounter anything untoward, you are authorized, and advised, to use lethal force, without warning or reservation.  Good luck."





"Hi there."

The guard tensed, and whirled to bring the source of the voice into view.  Fyrenn snagged the man's neck in both forelegs and twisted roughly, arresting his lower body with one back paw.  The man's head continued to rotate at a speed approaching seventy miles an hour.  His torso did not.

Fyrenn allowed the corpse to slump noiselessly to the floor, and peeked out from behind the edge of the doorway.

The central chamber of the warehouse was mostly quiet, and dark, save for a dim light and moving shadows near the hydraulic press.  Minos was nowhere to be seen, and the APC that had transported the group had vanished from its parking space.

Soundlessly, Fyrenn leapt from the floor to the nearest ceiling support strut, beating his uninjured wing once to push him across the gulf.

He dug in with all of his talons and claws, making his way slowly along each diagonal strut until he could easily jump to the next.

As soon as he was directly over the press he paused, and assessed the situation.

Squish was lounging in a dilapidated folding chair, smoking an electronic cigarette and fiddling with a tactical knife.  At various intervals nearby, four guards strolled to and fro at a leisurely pace, weapons lowered.

Fyrenn quickly ran through several scenarios, contemplating his options carefully.  If Minos was still in the building, or if there were other enclaves of guards nearby, an overabundance of noise would potentially endanger April and Sonya.

The red Gryphon waited patiently until two of the guards were alone on the opposite side of the giant press, visually obscured from their comrades.

He extended his back claws, stretched out his talons, and dropped from his perch on the girder.

His talons found the weakest point at the back of the trooper's neck plates, passing straight through the knife-resistant fabric, skin, and bone, to reach, and sever the spinal nerve.

Wasting no time, Fyrenn darted up the side of the press, flared his good wing, and leapt down onto the next two guards.  His left wing forced the first soldier to the floor, where Fyrenn's back left claw was waiting to twist his head into a fatally untenable configuration.

Meanwhile, he made good use of his free claws to smash the second guard's head into a vaguely pancake shaped blob.

Finally, before the remaining soldier could even raise his weapon, Fyrenn reached down and plucked the knife from Squish's hands.

The blade flew straight and true, embedding itself in the back of the soldier's throat by way of his open mouth, locked in an expression of astonishment and anger.

Fyrenn turned to Squish, and clamped one claw firmly over his mouth and throat.  As April and Sonya approached, he held one talon to his beak for silence.  The red Gryphon glowered down into Squish's face as the man squirmed in vain, trying unsuccessfully to kick, bite, and scream his way to freedom.

"Do you remember how I warned you this would end?"

The man's eyes bulged in fear as he realized what Fyrenn was planning to do.  The Gryphon smiled slightly, and nodded towards the press.

"Well I wasn't exaggerating.  That's not in my nature."

Without further warning, or pause, Fyrenn brought his free claw down on Squish's wrist, sharpest edges of his talons bared at a perpendicular angle to the skin.

His claw passed effortlessly through tissue and bone, liberating Squish's hand entirely from his arm.  Fyrenn scooped up the severed appendage as it fell, shifting his preoccupied claw from the man's mouth, to his throat.

Before Squish could muster a scream, he rammed the man's hand into his mouth, blocking any further attempt to vocalize.

Both claws now freed, Fyrenn used his height and strength to force Squish's head into the internal space of the press.  He held the man still with an iron grip on one shoulder, ignoring his whimpering pleas as he slammed his free claw down on the press control panel.

The device abruptly shuddered to life, and the compression plate dropped swiftly.  Fyrenn released Squish's shoulder as the device took over.

He turned, and shepherded April and Sonya away from the machine with both claws, placing his body between the two girls, and their line of sight to the gruesome execution.

The Gryphon didn't even deign to watch himself, as the device finally snapped shut, reshaping Squish's head into a form roughly equivalent to a quarter-inch thick plate, accompanied by a variety of bone-chilling sounds.

Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head, muttering to himself with a small grin.

"Some people just don't handle pressure very well."
> Chapter 40
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 28th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn slammed his helmet into place, and hefted his sword, twirling it idly in his right claw.

He cast his gaze about the warehouse floor, pausing as his eyes lit upon a distinctive shape ensconced under a gray tarplin.  He strode swiftly over to the object, and yanked hard on one side of the fabric.  The covering fell away with a soft rustle.

"Now we're getting somewhere."

Fyrenn loped around to the driver's side of the vehicle, and yanked open the door.  A single glance at the instrument panel told him everything he needed to know.

"Tank is full.  It's our lucky day."

As the Gryphon performed a swift visual inspection of the humvee, April moved to stand in front of the bull bars.  She squinted up at the fog lights, and her brow wrinkled.

"You can drive?"

Fyrenn finished his appraisal of the vehicle, and stepped back.  It was a current model armored four wheel drive jeep.  But for the unmarked black paint scheme, it was precisely equivalent to a JRSF humvee.

He shook his head slowly.

"Yes I can, but I don't plan to.  That's your job."

April raised an eyebrow, and snorted.

"I've never even ridden a bicycle."

Fyrenn pulled open the jeep's rear door, and gripped the edges of the nearest seat with both claws.  With a soft grunt, he flexed his hind legs, and ripped the entire assembly off its moorings.

He tossed the mangled chair aside, and stopped to nurse his sore wing as he spoke.

"I have the best eyes, and the fastest reflexes, so I'm on the gun.  Your sister has age and strength on her side, so she will be our secondary firepower.  That leaves the driving to you."

April shook her head, and giggled softly.

"I can't even reach the pedals silly."

Fyrenn cast about furtively until he spied what he was looking for.  A series of rusty iron re-bars stacked twenty high on a shipping pallet.

He snatched up two of the objects, and strode back to the jeep purposefully.

As he spoke, he threaded one rebar behind the accelerator, wrapping the bottom end around it to secure it, and twisting the top spare thirteen inches into a pedal-like shape.

"That won't be a problem.  I'll set the gearbox to automatic, so all you have to worry about is gas, brakes, and avoiding anything especially solid in the roadway."

Fyrenn quickly finished mimicking the impromptu extender setup with the brake pedal, then turned his attention to the dashboard.  He muttered to himself as he flipped the switches, trying to take his mind off a particularly insistent bout of soreness in his right wing.

"All-wheel drive engaged.  Gear-box to automatic.  Clutch to automatic.  Traction control to automatic.  Diff-lock set.  Fuel efficiency governor off."

As Sonya scrambled into the front passenger seat, Fyrenn reached down and scooped up April in his claws, making especially sure that he didn't scratch her with the tips of his talons.

He deposited the young girl in the driver's seat, and gestured to the steering wheel.

"Self explanatory.  Right pedal is the accelerator;  The harder you push down, the faster the engine will go.  Left side is the brake;  The harder you push down, the more braking power you get.  You don't need to worry about the parking brake, shifter, ignition, or any of the instruments, except..."

Fyrenn tapped the parking brake with one talon insistently.

"You need to push in the release catch, and press this all the way down, but only when I say so."

April grinned, and nodded.  Fyrenn patted her on the shoulder reassuringly, and yanked down on the safety harness, expertly clicking all five restraint points into place, and cinching it until April winced.

Finally, he reached out, and thumbed the ignition switch with one talon.  The jeep's immense hydrogen fuel cell, eighteen cylinder engine roared to life with a menacing growl.  The headlights, fog lights, and tail lights snapped on in sequence.

Fyrenn pulled back, slammed the driver's side door shut firmly, then scrambled up through the rear of the jeep and into the turret position.  With the back seating gone, there was just barely enough room for him to fit, and turn.

He flicked the two activation and safety release switches, and pivoted the rail-gun into place.  The weapon was a non-standard single barrel gauss cannon, as opposed to the normal rail-saw type miniguns such humvees normally sported.

Fyrenn examined the device carefully, and concluded it would suit his purposes well.  The refire rate was sluggish, but the rounds were five times the size of a standard small anti-vehicle munition, and would be delivered at three times the muzzle velocity.

The red Gryphon flicked the main barrel out into attack configuration, and braced his hind legs.

He glanced down through the windshield into the front.

"Parking brake off."

April gingerly reached down and released the lever as she had been instructed.  The vehicle began to roll forward slowly.

Fyrenn nodded towards the ramp at the end of the warehouse.

"Gun it.  No brakes until we're on the surface streets.  We don't stop for anything, understand?  You let me and your sister worry about any...  'Interested third parties.' "

April inclined her head, and inhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel tightly with both hands.

"Alright.  But remember, this was *your* idea..."

Fyrenn shifted his wings slightly to avoid abrading them on the lip of the turret.

"Relax.  This is the second time this month I've done this."

Sonya chuckled grimly.

"Oh yeah?  And how did it end last time?"

Fyrenn winced, exhaled, and shook his head.

"I think we'd best leave that discussion for later."





"You hear that Sergeant?"

The man stiffened reflexively, and raised his rifle.  His partner sighed, and rolled his eyes.

"For the last time Einrig; *Relax.*  This is a snore-fest posting, and everyone knows it.  Nothing is going to..."

The man's voice trailed off, and he turned to face Einrig, his brow wrinkling.  The two guards leaned towards the corrugated tin door they had been tasked with protecting, straining their ears to detect a trace of sound.

The Sergeant's eyes narrowed as the noise reached his ears once more.

"Is that a---"

The words were abruptly truncated by a large explosion of corrugated tin shards, and concrete fragments.  Through the miasma, a piercing set of halon light beams emerged, followed by the source of the commotion itself.

The humvee tore through the remainder of the barrier as though it were little more than cloth scraps.  Corporal Einrig, and his Sergeant, swiftly found themselves face to face with a set of curved, studded, titanium bull bars.

The two stunned men instantly became two limp, airborne corpses, as kinetic energy transferal overwhelmed their skeletal infrastructure.

April swerved manically back and forth across the parking lot, trying to clear dust and debris from the windscreen.

"Did I hit something?!"

Fyrenn snorted, wagging his head sharply back and forth to dislodge a thin coating of concrete grit from his feathers.

"Just a little roadkill.  Take the far exit, and go down the alleyway until you reach the street, then turn left."

The humvee lurched across the empty lot, cutting a serpentine path through the concrete car-stops.  Fyrenn winced as the back of the vehicle pulled out into a brief slide during a particularly sharp turn, the rear tires squealing loudly in protest.

"Don't push the wheel too hard if you don't have to.  Let it understeer a little if you must."

April blanched, and gripped the wheel even more tightly, barely managing to thread the jeep into the alleyway.

"What's understeer?!"

The young girl jerked the steering column as hard as she could, causing the humvee to slide around the corner and into the street in a cloud of rubber smoke.  The front bull-bars instantly slammed into the side of an offending obstacle, as April reflexively pressed down on the accelerator to curb the slide.

The jeep accelerated away, forcing the second humvee to the side as it passed.  Fyrenn wrenched the turret around one hundred and eighty degrees as swiftly as he could.

"*That* is understeer."

Fyrenn paused only long enough to verify the lack of markings on the second humvee, before discharging a railgun round directly into the front of the vehicle.  The impact created a large fireball as the jeep's fuel cells ruptured.

The red Gryphon winced, and shook his head.

"Sonya, find the radio controls.  Set to broadcast on four-eight-six point one-one-two-five-zero."

Fyrenn twisted his body and head just enough to get a glimpse of the road ahead, nodding reassuringly down at April.

"Turn left, next intersection.  You're doing well!"

Sonya tapped insistently at several keys on the main dashboard console, then snatched up the radio's microphone.

"Ready!"

Fyrenn tucked his head to avoid a hail of RAC rounds as another unmarked jeep skidded out of a side-street.

"Transmit this, and repeat; 'Break-Break.  Callsign: Juliette Romeo Sierra Foxtrot Gamma One Six Four.  Urgent Alpha Priority.  Extraction Requested: Armed Pursuit, Injured Friendlies.' "

As the Gryphon spoke, Sonya mimicked his words.  When she had finished, she repeated the message once more.

Fyrenn glowered as the enemy vehicle closed rapidly.  He fired a snap-shot without clear line of sight, shearing the roof off the right side of the humvee, and killing the soldier in the front passenger seat.

In response, the soldier in the jeep's turret directed an indiscriminate spray of rounds forward, trying to track with Fyrenn's turret hatch.  Mercifully, the vast majority missed.

The red Gryphon rapped one fisted claw harshly against the interior of the turret ring, raising his voice to make sure April caught his instructions over the din of combat.

"Cut left! NOW!"

April grunted in frustration, wrenching the wheel left as hard as she could.

She winced as the jeep clipped a fire hydrant, skidding around the sharp bend and into the center lane of a larger surface street.

Fyrenn glanced over the rim of the turret, and said a brief silent prayer of thanks for the evacuation order.  The roads were shut down for most of the surrounding ten square miles, which meant they were free to maneuver without the compounding issue of traffic.

The red Gryphon pulled himself back up into a position where he could operate the turret, and spun the weapon to face the alleyway exit.

Fyrenn squeezed the trigger just as the pursuing vehicle burst forth from the confined concrete canyon.  The round sheared the entire front half off the enemy jeep, causing the rear compartment to crumple and roll violently.

As April fought to further stabilize the jeep's course, the radio crackled to life with a familiar voice.

"Gamma One Six Four: This is Manhattan Central.  Fyrenn, is that you?!"

The Gryphon recognized Aston's voice, and nodded down at Sonya, gesturing to the microphone.  The young girl snatched up the device, and shouted to make herself heard over the noise of the engine.

"He's here!  Go ahead!"

"Your distress signal has been received.  There are two VTOLs in the air, we just need you to designate an extraction LZ."

Fyrenn gestured to the swiftly approaching intersection, directing instructions first to April, then to Sonya. 

"Turn right here and swing up Tremont!  Tell Aston there's a small park at the intersection of Tremont and Third with room for a landing zone.  Tell her to relay that the approach will be under-fire, and tell her we need on-site jamming, plus a no-signal umbrella all the way home!"

Fyrenn braced himself against the handles of his gun as April swung the humvee wildly through the intersection, narrowly missing the base of a lamppost in the process.  He smiled down at the nervous child with as much reassuring calm as he could muster.

"You're doing a fantastic job!  Just follow this road until you see a big open space on the right with lots of synthgrass!"





"Albatross Flight, Manhattan Central;  Your target has been located moving up Tremont towards Third Street from the West.  Urgent Alpha Priority Extraction.  Expect heavy resistance.  LZ has been designated as a small park space at the intersection of Tremont and Third.  Coordinates are being sent to your navigator.  Be advised, target has requested deployment of electronic countermeasures and jamming systems.  Escort Drones deployed and inbound."

Neyla pressed one talon into the side of her headset to seat it more firmly, then tucked her wings in and dipped into a wide, fast turn between two buildings.

"Did you speak to Fyrenn?  Is he injured?"

Aston's voice acquired a more informal, familiar tone, laced with hints of concern.

"No, I spoke to a young girl who said Fyrenn was there with her.  There was a lot of engine noise in the background, and she reported medical concerns, so if I had to guess?  Yes he's probably injured."

Neyla's face hardened, and she began to reflexively beat her wings in a sharply angled profile, maximizing her speed for minimum cost in drag coefficient.  As the enormous glass and steel corridor walls on either side began to whip past at death-defying speeds, Kephic's voice filtered through the comm.

"Dispatch Military Police to the combat zone.  There's a strong chance this will turn excessively bloody."

Varan voiced Neyla's thoughts as she rolled, and dove to avoid a pedestrian skybridge.

"I would also advise you alert the coroner's office to be prepared for mass casualties.  We do not intend to make any arrests."





"Sir?  You need to hear this."

Minos raised an eyebrow, and held out his hand, allowing the soldier to drop a small headset earpiece into the outstretched surface of his palm.

As the armored sedan whisked breezily around a corner, he pushed the small bulb into his right ear. The soldier tapped at a small screen embedded in his left gauntlet, and blanched.

"I've just been told that the next guard shift arrived at the storage site.  They're reporting that the entrance detail is dead from multiple kinetic impact wounds.  On-site assets have been shot, skewered....  Oh God...  What's left of someone's head was just found *inside* the hydraulic press!"

Minos glowered, and held up one finger for silence, straining his ears to catch the last of the words echoing through his earbud.

"...Extraction.  Expect heavy resistance.  LZ has been designated as a small park space at the intersection of Tremont and Third.  Coordinates are being sent to your navigator.  Be advised, target has requested deployment of electronic countermeasures and jamming systems.  Escort Drones deployed and inbound."

The man glowered, and shook his head slowly, mumbling under his breath all the while.

"Troublemaking red feathery bastard."

Minos rapped his knuckles sharply on the reinforced glass dividing the rear compartment from the driver's seat.

"Take the next right on Webster.  Make for the corner of Tremont and Third.  And get me regional asset command."

The suited woman nodded sharply, and pressed firmly on the brake, pushing into the turn with vigor.

"Yes sir!"





The first warning sign came in the form of a distinctive scream-like sound.  Fyrenn recognized it almost instantly as the unique, and incredibly rare vocalization of a twelve-cylinder petroleum-based engine.

The sound was immediately followed by twin sprays of automatic rifle fire as two motorcycles darted out of perpendicular intersections, and began to bob and weave around the jeep incessantly.

The militarized model of the twin-wheeled vehicle was the most common, since no one but the military, or the richest of private citizens, could afford the exorbitant price of the petroleum-based fuel.

Fyrenn noted that each vehicle bore a driver, who was wholly focused on the road, and a gunner who clung to a side mounted handle-brace with one hand, and sprayed indiscriminately with his rifle using the other.

As he tried to rotate the jeep's main gun into a suitable firing position, the Gryphon swiftly realized the motorcycles presented a very serious threat.  The added weight of the long-gun's extra acceleration magnets made it impossible for the turret ring to revolve fast enough to keep up with the two motorcycles, even with Fyrenn's considerable strength behind it.

The red Gryphon ducked as a particularly well-aimed line of rounds zipped through the space he had just been occupying.  Another burst of fire peppered the driver's side window, causing April to wince and jump.  In turn, the Jeep swerved sharply under her reflexive movement, causing the tires to squeal in protest.

Fyrenn grunted as his injured wing brushed abrasively against the inner ring of the turret.  Sonya's brow knit, and her mouth hardened into a thin, furiously clenched line.

She raised both hands, holding them outstretched towards the nearest offending vehicle as if pronouncing some twisted form of a benediction.  Then her hands clenched.

Even as he watched it through the lens of his internal decelerated time, Fyrenn struggled to understand what he was seeing.

The motorcycle, and its inhabitants, seemed to be both crumpling from one side as if beset by a controlled implosion, and exploding from all others, like overheated plexiglass struck with a jackhammer.

At last, as pieces of bone, armor, bolts, and steel plating sprayed outwards in a fine mist, propelled by an immense fireball, Fyrenn realized what Sonya had done.  

The child had astutely realized that the amount of energy needed to stop the bike outright was well beyond her capacity.  Instead, she had opted to compress the fuel tank catastrophically.  The gasoline inside had sublimated, and then ignited, creating first a pressure wave, and then the conflagration that inevitably followed.

It was as if the men on the motorcycle had been struck by an ignited napalm block, wrapped in an outer layer of semtex.

By the time the jeep had reached the next intersection, all that remained of the offending vehicle and its occupants was a black streak of rubber, and scorched particulate matter, burning softly at its edges.

Fyrenn leapt into action, immediately capitalizing on the opening Sonya had unintentionally given him.

The second motorcycle had to swerve to avoid being caught up in the wreckage of their compatriots' ill-fated machine.  That made their path much more predictable, and slowed their overall progress considerably.

The combination of a decrease in overall velocity, a more predictable movement path, and increased distance between the two vehicles, more than compensated for the turret's slow traverse speed.

Fyrenn smiled, and squeezed the triggers.  The round crossed the distance in less time than it took the driver to perceive its arrival, shredding the front of the vehicle like wood in a chipping funnel.

The shattering effect, driven by transference of kinetic energy, spread out over the entire vehicle like cracks in a stained-glass pane.  The two riders were thrown clear, impacting the pavement at nearly one hundred miles an hour.

Fyrenn put all his exertion into the turret's handles, doing his best to track with the soldiers as they rolled in tandem down the asphalt.  As they slowed, he squeezed the trigger again, turning both men into an unrecognizable streak running down half a block of the center turn lane.

The Gryphon spun in place, and glanced furtively at his surroundings as April continued to accelerate.  He noted the name of the nearest side-street, and shouted loudly to ensure April didn't miss his instructions.

"Make a right in two blocks!  Don't brake all at once, and don't go too far into the center of the park."

April nodded her acknowledgement, and twisted her hands back and forth around the edge of the steering wheel nervously.

Fyrenn grinned slightly, and winked.

"Relax.  You're doing even better than Neyla did."

The young girl smiled slightly, and glanced up through the topmost portion of the windshield.

"Really?"

Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head.

"You're not as skilled, but you're definitely better for the environment.  And my cartilage."

Sonya shook her head, and glowered.

"Focus!  They're not gonna let go of us that easily.  If at all."

The Gryphon allowed his smile transition from comforting grin, to predatory leer.

"I don't intend to give them an option."

After a moment of relative calm, in which the roar of the engine drowned out all other sounds and thoughts, April pointed with her right finger.

"Here?"

Fyrenn nodded, "Here."

He craned his neck over the edge of the turret to take in the environment.  The park was approximately two blocks long and three wide.  

The space was mostly given over to a cheap form of synthgrass, crisscrossed by duracrete paths.  Benches, children's playsets, and even bronze tree sculptures, were interspersed at various points in a pitifully vain attempt to generate a lively natural atmosphere.

Fyrenn gestured sharply with one talon.

"There.  Behind that low wall.  Slow to a gentle roll, stop, then pull up on the parking latch before you take your foot off the brake pedal."

The Gryphon swept his gaze carefully over the surrounding structures and streets.  As April began to gradually bring the Jeep's speed down, cutting diagonally through an intersection and up onto the curb, he got the distinct feeling they were being observed.

As the jeep careened onto a footpath, and began to slow to an almost reasonable speed, the familiar and comforting sound of turboprop-driven light VTOL blades sliced the air.

Accompanied by a low, dull whine generated by a brace of urban combat drones, the two transport gunships wheeled around the side of the nearest super skyscraper in tandem.  

The aircraft flared simultaneously, bringing their noses skyward and rotating their prop blades fully vertical as they dropped swiftly towards the largest open patch of turf.

Fyrenn heard the telltale hiss first.  By the time he had brought his head around to see the plume of white smoke billowing up from the next block over, the small missile had already arced over the top of the Jeep.

He spun his head back just in time to see the warhead strike the left-side strut of the second VTOL, causing the port engine to erupt in smoke and flames.

"SWERVE!"

Even as Fyrenn screeched the word, he knew it was too late.  April's reaction times were, after all, only Human.  He just had time to watch the first VTOL touchdown, as the second pulled back and to the left, the pilot fighting desperately to keep the craft fully under control.

Then, as a second telltale hiss dissipated, his world went berserk.  Gravity, light, and sound conspired to transform Fyrenn's local frame of reference from a stable moving platform, into something morbidly resembling a clothes-dryer's spin cycle.

Somehow, in spite of the fact that the humvee had nearly split in half, and had then rolled a good twenty yards before impacting a stone wall, Fyrenn clung to consciousness.

His ears rang with the aftereffects of the missile's impact.  His injured wing felt as if someone had dug the tip of a knife into the joint.  Otherwise, the majority of his faculties remained intact, and largely unhindered.

The sharp smell of burning aluminum brought the Gryphon back to full combat readiness.  It took him only a thousandth of a second to realize the jeep was completely upside down, and that the top of the turret was wedged against the synth-turf.

Fyrenn grunted, and extended his back legs slightly until his rear claws met the side door on the left side.  He dug in, and pushed with all his might, bracing his foreclaws against the turret ring for stability.

Accompanied by the groan of protesting metal roll bars, the door at last popped free of its housing, sailing three feet over a low wall and coming to rest in the middle of a nearby footpath.

Fyrenn used his claws to provide sufficient force to eject himself from the vehicle, allowing his self-righting reflex to bring him to a graceful stop on all-fours, facing the ruin of the jeep.

He instantly spied Sonya who was in the process of ripping her safety belt away, while simultaneously trying to wake April.  The latter of the sisters seemed to have struck her head on the steering wheel, and fallen unconscious.

Fyrenn gestured for Sonya to work on her own problems, and strode around to the opposite side of the jeep as swiftly as his legs would carry him.  Smoke and an ominous red glow were billowing forth from the engine compartment, along with a disturbing wave of searing heat.

The Gryphon stretched out his right claw, talons first, and slammed it mercilessly into the glass of April's window.  Weakened by a spray of bullets, and the compression wave from the anti-vehicle missile, the substance gave way under the stress of Fyrenn's strength, channeled through four micrometer-thin talon points.

Ignoring the shards, and thankful for the protection his scaly lower forelegs offered, Fyrenn reached in with both claws, and brutalized April's safety harness, shredding the fabric like tissue paper.

As soon as the central locking mechanism fell away, he scooped the child up gingerly in both claws, and pulled her out through the window.

For her part, Sonya had simply applied her psionic amp to the problem of escape, blasting the passenger-side door a solid ten feet away in her adrenaline-fueled rage, and panic.

Fyrenn rotated his head sharply to the right as a small squad of  troopers poured forth from the side of the VTOL, rushing madly across the intervening space, RACs raised.

An ominous low roar filtered through the intersection behind him.  The Gryphon didn't need to turn around and see the source of the engine noise to know that it was bad news.

He silently passed April to Sonya, and gestured with one claw to the opposite side of the stone wall.

As the elder sister vaulted the obstacle, crouched, and began to revive her sibling, Fyrenn returned to the jeep.  Furious gunfire erupted from all directions as black-clad troopers burst forth from doorways, hallways, and rooftops.

Fyrenn reached down and gripped the ring of the turret in both claws, yanking as hard as he could, and doing his best to ignore the din around him.  

His position of leverage allowed him to raise the vehicle up just enough to see the gauss-gun.  He stretched out one claw, snagged the weapon, and ripped it cleanly off its mounts, stepping away rapidly as the jeep fell back into a recumbent position.

Fyrenn pulled away even further, checking that there was still one round in the gun's chamber, and power in its capacitor banks, as the humvee finally erupted into a lurid red hydrogen fireball.  He glanced across his field of vision, noting that their rescuers had become embattled behind cover nearly seventy yards away.

Even the drone support they had mustered was pitiful compared to the sheer number of heavy enemy troopers that had descended on the block.

The Gryphon paused, and flared his ears, sidestepping reflexively as a loud crack split the morning air.  The feathers of his chest ruffled slightly as the rail-snipe round passed within inches of his ribcage.

He momentarily ignored the sniper, mentally noting his position atop a bank across the block.  The more immediate threat finally burst through a side alley, and came skidding into the entrance of the park with abandon.

Fyrenn hefted the gauss-gun, taking only an eighth of a second to sight on the humvee's front right wheel, before squeezing the trigger.

The kickback was enough to break every bone in an assault-trooper's body.  To Fyrenn, it was mildly painful, given the state of his right wing, but he shifted his back legs slightly, and diffused the majority of it into the ground.  The rest became barrel pull, jerking the end of the weapon ninety degrees skyward.

The round struck true, transforming the jeep's front right quadrant into a twisted mess resembling a modern sculpture exhibition.  Carried forward under its own momentum, combined with the understeer of the recently completed turn, the jeep pitched forward into an end-over-end cartwheel.

Fyrenn dropped the depleted gauss gun over his right shoulder, and watched impassively as the enemy vehicle skidded to a stop in an upright position, a mere foot away from his beak, creating a barrier between himself and the sniper.

He strode calmly over to the driver's side door, waiting patiently until the dazed man had managed to draw his pistol, and turn the weapon in a generally useful direction.  Fyrenn reached out calmly, and snatched the gun from the man's trembling hand. 

Twisting it expertly and discharging it three times in swift succession, the red Gryphon dispatched the driver, passenger, and turret operator with precise throat-shots, before the other two soldiers even had time to re-focus their vision.

Another shot issued forth from the sniper's position, but the round went wide, taking out the humvee's rear windows.

Fyrenn seized on the momentary disruption of the shooter's sight-picture to acquire his objective.  The Gryphon reached out and ripped the rail-saw from its bearings on the top of the turret, barely pausing to pick up the ammo-box as he threw the weapon, and its belt, over his right shoulder.

As the sniper finished re-acquiring him, Fyrenn depressed the trigger calmly.  Flames of plasmified air belched forth from the gun's forward aperture.  The roof of the bank disintegrated instantly;  Sniper, molding, and crenellations mixing together into a dull brown paste of concrete, squished rounds, and shredded biomatter.

Clutching the gun over his right shoulder and the ammo-box in his left claw, Fyrenn turned the weapon to the right, cutting a line of instant death across the nearest enemy troopers before they even had a chance to recognize the threat.

The rail-saw's rounds had been designed to puncture light vehicle armor, and even small bunker structures.  The mere anti-personnel armor the soldiers were equipped with did nothing whatsoever to stop the immense slugs from carving them into unrecognizable strips of jerky and kevlar dust.

Keeping the weapon spun-up, Fyrenn released the fire-trigger, and made a break for the stone wall where Sonya and April were hiding.  As he leapt over the protrusion, and ducked, a hail of fire followed him.

He noted, with relief, that April was awake and cogent, crouching on her own feet without external support.

Fyrenn gestured with his left claw, and ammo box, towards the VTOL, issuing instructions in a clipped, sure tone.

"Seventy two yards and change.  Only fifty three to the nearest defensive line.  Thirty to the inside of the jamming blanket if the VTOL is doing its job.  Sonya, you're moving secondary cover.  April;  You run as fast as you can and don't look back.  I'll provide primary cover fire from here."

Sonya shook her head adamantly, glancing tentatively over the stone wall.

"There are fifteen of them and only one of you."

Fyrenn shrugged, and glanced at the weapon on his shoulder.

"Well gee...  Sucks for them."

The Gryphon tensed his back legs, and inhaled sharply.

"On three.  One!  Two!  THREE!"

April took off like a shot as Fyrenn pivoted up over the wall, and depressed the main trigger once more, engulfing the world ahead of him in fire, and tungsten, and noise.  Sonya hesitated for a half second, before taking off after April, hands raised and outstretched like claws.

A few stray rounds found their way towards the siblings, but Sonya was easily able to redirect them all.  The majority of the enemy's fire was, understandably, focused on the red leoavinid with a chain gun on his right shoulder.

Fyrenn snapped the ammo-box to a universal magclip on his right rear leg gauntlet, and brought the weapon down off his shoulder into a more stable two-claw grip.  The action increased his range of free-motion, allowing him to dive and roll in an awkward, but workable fashion.

In-spite of the rail-saw's immense effectiveness, the weapon was doing very little to stem the overall tide of enemy soldiers.

It seemed as if an entire division of the unmarked ghost-troopers had descended on the park.  Fyrenn realized there were easily a dozen dead, and three-dozen still-standing.

The survivors had tightened up their tactics, making ample use of cover, and numbers.

Fyrenn grunted as he remembered the condition of his injured wing.  An inability to fly practically crippled him, both from the standpoint of combat effectiveness, as well as escape chances.

As rapidly as the conditions had shifted in the enemy's favor, they abruptly stilted back.  Almost before Fyrenn could finish his own tactical assessment.

With an unholy war-screech Varan's familiar form dropped from the top of a nearby building, slamming into his first opponent so hard, that the impact drove the man's skull and helmet nine whole inches into the asphalt of the road.

Kephic streaked up from the north, flying low over the footpaths with his RAC and blowing away any soldier foolish enough to stand from behind their cover point.

Fyrenn only had to wonder for half a second where Neyla had positioned herself.  A loud report rang out, and the soldier nearest his position dropped dead, his helmet obscured by a cloud of sparks and shattered armor dust.

The red Gryphon twisted his head towards the sound, and focused his eyes.  Eight blocks away, and seventy stories up, Neyla was leaning out of a building window, a scope-less railsnipe cradled in both forearms.

She gestured silently with one claw towards the VTOL, and Fyrenn nodded.

His right ear flicked reflexively as Neyla's next shot passed within three feet of his head, arcing gracefully down into the visor of the nearest unmarked trooper with pinpoint precision.

Fyrenn seized on the momentary confusion and fear being generated in the enemy ranks.  Depressing his gun's main trigger once more, he burst from cover and began loping across the park towards the rescue squad as fast as his hind legs would take him.

A half-dozen enemy soldiers attempted to form a firing line and rid themselves of the red Gryphon once and for all, but their attempt was poorly conceived at best.

Those that Fyrenn's rail-saw did not slice into unrecognizable quivering lumps, were left to Neyla, or Kephic.  Neither Gryphon seemed especially concerned with conserving enemy lives, nor ammunition.

In Fyrenn's estimation, the enemy could afford to make one final push, but after that, their force would be critically broken.  One way or another, the battle was over.  Military Police reinforcements could be only minutes away.

For his part, Varan had made his way deftly over to the rescue squad, and was busy ensuring that there were no further casualties on that front.

Within twelve seconds Fyrenn had crossed the synthetic field of turf, and rolled into a guarded position behind a small hillock.

A single glance at the ammo belt told him the rail-saw was effectively depleted.  He unclipped the casing from his leg, and tossed the entire monstrosity to the side.  The nearest ConSec trooper passed Fyrenn his pistol wordlessly.

Varan inclined his head towards the impromptu wrappings around Fyrenn's right wing.

"Injured?"

Fyrenn nodded, and cycled the pistol's capacitor bank.

"Dislocated and set, but still very tender.  I can't risk flight-strain yet."

He turned to the senior ConSec trooper, a Lieutenant Commander according to his shoulder-plate.

"Commander;  Please tell me we're under a jamming blanket."

The man nodded without taking his eyes off the sights of his RAC.

"Affirmative.  Manhattan Central has tuned the city's Police comm grid to form an ECM white-out zone.  Seventy meter sphere around the evac bird, locked to its IFF beacon."

Fyrenn nodded, and allowed himself a small sigh of relief.  He shot April and Sonya an encouraging smile as he continued to speak.

"Full Sitrep?"

The Lieutenant Commander raised his rifle into a safe position and pulled away from the hillock, allowing Varan to take his place, locking eyes with Fyrenn as he spoke.

"Albatross one is spun up, ready for evac, but we're waiting on two more support drones.  Albatross two had to pull out. 
Heavy engine cowling damage.  We have one dead, and two wounded here, but your friends seem to be providing good overwatch."

A young woman who couldn't have been older than twenty three tapped the side of her helmet, and barked out a rapid-fire report.  Her shoulder bars identified her as a Corporal.

"Burst-transmission from Central!  More Tangos inbound from North and West quadrants.  Three Platoons of Military Police are en-route with heavy armored pacification assets.  Cleanup crew is a Shinigami-Heavy incoming from Glen-Curtiss AFB.  Tuned to our beamriders.  ETA two minutes!"

Fyrenn gestured with one claw to April and Sonya.

"We have to get them out of play as soon as possible, along with your wounded. "

The red Gryphon gestured towards the west and north as he continued, "Neyla, Varan, and Kephic will provide a spearhead of moving overwatch, and handle their own egress from the engagement box.  You and your two functionals will handle your wounded, I will handle the young ones and myself."

Fyrenn dipped his head towards the VTOL, locking eyes briefly with the pilot.

"We'll pull back from the kill-box and lay down target beams for the Shinigami as we exfiltrate.  MPs will clean-up anything left moving.  We will proceed directly back to Central, with no stops, under cover of the escort drones, Neyla, and Kephic."

The Gryphon fixed his eyes on Varan, and nodded as he finished.

"You alright with staying here and spearheading cleanup?  I feel its best we have one of us here to make sure nothing useful gets... 'Lost.' "

Varan's eyes hardened, and he nodded sharply.  The golden Gryphon inferred from Fyrenn's tone, manner, and expression, that he was concerned about subversive elements.

It was the most blunt admission of mis-trust for Human officers that Varan had ever heard from an Equestrian.  The fact that it came from Fyrenn left him with a twisting sensation of worry deep in his gut.

Fyrenn turned his eyes upwards as the piercing buzz of a mini-drone, and its centrally mounted gun, began to make itself known over the din of pitched battle.  The Corporal stated the obvious for everyone's benefit.

"Support package is here!"

The red Gryphon raised a fisted claw, and extended the index talon, spinning it round and round.  The VTOL pilot recognized the gesture, and began to prepare the engines for a rapid takeoff.  The whine of the turboprops intensified sharply, though the spin of the blades themselves remained sluggish as they waited for re-engagement of the clutch.

Fyrenn pointed to the open side of the craft.

"I'll take port-side gun.  Commander, you're on the co-pilot's chair, keep your finger on the countermeasure launcher."

The red Gryphon tapped the young Corporal on the shoulder.

"You are the other rear-guard for the run;  Focus on providing cover for April.  Eyes out.."

The young woman nodded and swiftly exchanged her rifle for Fyrenn's pistol.  As she removed the clip and blew on the ammunition, Fyrenn pointed once more to the VTOL.

"When we reach the VTOL, you're starboard gunner.  Remember, unfriendlies are geared in standard Earthgov armor.  Pick targets based on a lack of emblems or functioning IFF in your heads-up."

Fyrenn smiled once more at April and Sonya, and gestured with one claw.

"Stay behind me.  If you have the energy, the Corporal and I would certainly appreciate cover shielding.  Whatever you do, you stay within my overwatch protection cone, and inside the ECM blanket.  Once you make it inside the VTOL, the Corporal will help you strap in.  From then on, hands-off and stay heads-down.  You'll be safe."

The red Gryphon glanced down at the RAC he had been handed, and removed the safety with a casual flick of his left index talon.

"Take ready positions!"

The young Corporal raised her pistol, turned to face the VTOL, and stepped out as far as she dared.  The remaining soldier, and the Lieutenant Commander, hefted their wounded into fireman's carry postures, switching to their own pistols and discarding their RACs.

Varan rolled to the right side of the hillock, and offered a slight nod to Kephic, who in turn nodded up the street to Neyla.

April and Sonya moved to stand behind Fyrenn, who brought up the rear of the formation.

"Ready?!  Three!  Two!  One!  GO!"

Even as the words left his beak, he squeezed the trigger and sprayed the top of an unmarked helmet that foolishly dared to peek over the edge of a bench.

"Pick up the pace!"

Fyrenn swept his rifle back and forth in slow arcs, focusing his eyes on even the tiniest of details.  He turned his right ear to the rear, listening intently as the VTOLs blades engaged fully with the gearbox and began to spin more swiftly.

The Gryphon turned his left ear forward, and strained to pick out useful aural clues from amidst the cacophony of rifle fire, screaming, and burning vehicles.

He stiffened as the sound of another engine reached him.  Accompanying the dull thrum, a black up-armored sedan drifted out of a nearby alleyway, braking hard to bring it up short of Neyla's firing corridor.

At such extreme range, Fyrenn knew that small-arms would be pointless against the vehicle's hardened plating and plexiglass.

That made the situation all the more frustrating as he recognized the right-side passenger in the rear compartment.

Minos smiled slightly as he raised his hardened DaTab, locking eyes with Fyrenn in the process.  Without pause, or any sign of remorse, he pressed his thumb firmly down on the central control surface.

Any other observer might have missed it, but Fyrenn's eyes had enough resolution at-distance to see the way Minos' face tensed in frustration.  He glowered over Fyrenn's shoulder at April and Sonya, but the two young girls continued to step backwards unhindered.

Fyrenn grinned, and threw off a mock salute with his left claw.

The Gryphon counted off the remaining steps.  His previous glances in the direction of the VTOL allowed him to reason spatially about the area without turning his head, a fact he was immensely grateful for given his diminished mobility.

He judged that the VTOL was a mere fifteen steps back.  He gestured with one claw harshly.

"Make a break and get onboard now!"

April turned and dashed flat out, sliding between the Lieutenant Commander and the side of the hatch frame, then ducking into cover within the troop bay.

Fyrenn glanced down at Sonya, his expression morphing swiftly to a pointed glare.

"We're there!  It's over!  GO!"

Sonya pointed towards the sedan, her face hardening slowly into a stony mask of uncontrolled rage.

"If he walks out of here?!  We'll never be free!"

Fyrenn shook his head, spraying several dozen rounds of suppression fire towards the nearest piece of cover to discourage the two soldiers there from popping up.

"If you walk out of this jamming blanket he'll kill you before you get halfway down the block!"

Sonya raised her hands, and twisted sharply, yanking the two soldiers to the side and exposing them.  Fyrenn released two precise bursts of semi-automatic fire into their lower faceplates as the girl spoke.

"You really think you can protect us?!  You're DELUDING yourself!"

Fyrenn let out a low growl, and fixed Sonya with a piercing glower.

"I have been hunting and killing other sapients, and surviving that crucible, since before you were BORN!  What do you think my kind DOES for a LIVING?!  For God's sakes just TRUST ME!!"

The red Gryphon was forced to take his eyes off the child to loose another barrage at a dashing trooper.  Even as the rounds left the muzzle, he sensed Sonya spring into action.

Before Fyrenn could bring the butt of his weapon to bear, Sonya had snatched a small cylindrical object from the Corporal's belt, and begun a mad dash across the field.

Fyrenn threw his RAC aside, and dropped to all fours, pouring every ounce of his strength into his legs.  Synth turf churned under him like a boiling sea of plastic green scuzz as his claws and talons tore the material away.

Though Fyrenn was several times faster than Sonya in a flat-out sprint, the girl had the advantage of her implants.  Gunfire splattered against the air around her as if it had met up with an invisible steel wall.  She refused to slow her pace one iota.

Fyrenn had no such protection, and it didn't take the troopers long to realize that he was a considerably larger, less defended target.  Within half a second, he was surrounded by a hail of fire.  

He ground to a halt, rose to a bipedal stance, and drew his sword in one smooth motion.  Though the action greatly increased his target profile, it allowed him to use the weapon to deflect the incoming the rounds he could not dodge in his hampered state.  Without the added protection, he knew the storm of bullets would begin to riddle his armor's weak spots with lethal wounds.

The amount of sheer concentration required for such an immense deceleration of relative perception left him virtually unable to change position in any meaningful way.

He opened his beak and began shouting an invective laced stream of orders at Varan and Sonya;  The latter to halt and the former to cover her mad dash.

The sound of the commands seemed alien in his own ears, reduced to rumbles like thunder by the elongated passage of seconds.

All Fyrenn could do was watch, and desperately fight to preserve his own life, as another enemy humvee careened down the street, rotating its turret towards Varan and opening fire in one seamless motion.

The golden Gryphon easily evaded the molten stream of lethal metal, but it cost him his useful sight picture.

In the chaos, Sonya reached the hillock that marked the edge of the jamming blanket, and mounted it.  Two soldiers attempted to open fire on her directly, but she extended one hand, almost as an afterthought, and reduced their skulls to a pasty mixture inside their helmets.

As the young girl passed out of the ECM umbrella, Fyrenn tensed and began shifting backwards as quickly as he could afford to.  The second passenger in Minos' sedan had opened his door, and was crouching behind it for cover.

The man had produced a standard issue rail-snipe, and was carefully tuning a thermal-scope.  Fyrenn realized that he was searching within the confines of the VTOL.  For April.

He also realized there were no choices left.  He had but one viable avenue of action.

Leaping as far back as he could, Fyrenn spun around his center of mass, doing his best to ensure his sword would come up in precisely the right spot upon exiting the roll.  The maneuver brought his blade directly into the sniper's sight-line, just as the thunderous sound of the discharge reached the Gryphon's ears.

The round was considerably faster than the small arms fire Fyrenn was used-to deflecting, but because of the necessity of a fixed trajectory, it had been more predictable.  The round slammed into his blade perpendicular to the edge, shearing the shell's casing in half and causing the two pieces to ricochet.

One went wild into the side of a tree sculpture, the other grazed through a weak-spot in Fyrenn's right foreleg gauntlet, and nicked the scales of the limb, drawing blood.

Judging by the latent soreness and throb, he guessed part of the shell had lodged in the upper layers of the protective material.

He flared his good wing to cover all possible sight lines towards April, and set out at a dead run towards the VTOL.  Another crack sounded, and the air above his head shimmered with the passage of a round.  A miss.

Again, a discharge broke the air.  The third round grazed the protective joint of his wing armor, doing little damage as a result of the angle of impact.  The force of the collision was enough to redirect the round, however, and it sailed off over the top of the VTOL, missing it by inches.

The sniper was panicking, thus failing to allow himself time to re-adjust his sight picture to account for recoil and muzzle-pull.  A prolonged pause told Fyrenn the man had realized his mistake, and was preparing to unleash the kill-shot.

Fyrenn dove into the rear compartment, smothering April with one wing and pressing her into the floor.  The Corporal shifted from her assigned door-gun to the port side weapon, and cycled the safety.

Fyrenn raised his head just in time to see her open up with the rail-saw, shredding the forward portion of the man's sniper rifle, and a small but fatal part of his head, as the rounds passed through the scope and into his helmet crest.

The woman then turned the gun on the enemy humvee, managing to land lucky shots on the turret operator.  The driver quickly kicked the vehicle into reverse, desperately maneuvering the jeep out of the corporal's kill-box.

Fyrenn watched, unable to look away, as Sonya crossed into the intersection.  The passenger-side soldier in the humvee leaned out and began firing, but the action was futile.  Sonya tossed the rounds aside as if they were chaff.

The girl had locked eyes with Minos, and was striding purposefully towards the sedan, an expression of thoughtless rage twisting her visage into something horrifyingly adult, for a child's tender face.

Fyrenn realized, only after the sound escaped his beak, that he had called out to her once again.  She ignored him.  Minos allowed Sonya to get close.  Within a single step of the maximum range for her amp, by Fyrenn's estimation.

Then he raised the DaTab, and pressed the button.  He crossed his hands behind his back, and watched, feeling no need to take cover, or protect himself in any way.

Fyrenn's breath caught in his chest, and for a tenth of a second, his heart stopped as chemicals and electro-quantum impulses associated with clinical shock flooded his nervous system.

Sonya managed to take one more step, then staggered to her knees.

A dozen troopers rushed forward from their cover positions, safe in the knowledge that the terrain kept them out of their enemy's more lethal sight-lines.

The men clustered around Sonya as she clutched at her head, screaming.

Fyrenn yanked April close, and forced her face into his chest-feathers.  The girl was unusually strong, however, and she twisted her head back around before Fyrenn could find a gentle way to prevent her from doing so.

He felt her breathing stop, like his, as her eyes locked on the kneeling form of her sister.  He found that a tiny part of his brain reflected gratefully that April's eyes were only Human.  All she could see was a silhouette.

Fyrenn could see what was really happening.

He did his best to flush all of the time-elongating chemicals from his system, and make the moment pass as swiftly as he could.  But it did little to aid in shutting out the image.

Sonya's skin blanched as if suddenly deprived of all water and blood.  Veins and nerves bulged, rippled, and liquefied as they necrotized, inch by agonizing inch, under the assault of trillions of tiny cell-sized machines.

From all the way across the park, Fyrenn thought he actually heard the 'CLINK' of the pin as it was pulled from the grenade.

He knew for a fact that he heard Minos' scream of panic as he dove behind the Sedan, placing its considerable bulk between himself and the live weapon.

The soldiers surrounding Sonya were not so lucky.

The weapon the girl had filched from the Corporal was a high-strength implosion grenade.  Designed to kill armored targets by vacuuming vulnerable tissue out through weak-spots, thus traumatizing the combatant inside fatally.

Sonya vanished in a pinprick of light and heat, accompanied by a dull thump.  The blast wave pushed outwards, mercifully ending her torment, and creating a large pocket of vaporized air.

The field collapsed all at once, forming the temporary vacuum force that the weapon was designed to create.

The surrounding soldiers flew together in a pile, like a sort of grim cairn.  Fyrenn could see small trickles of external evidence indicating their own bones and organs had become internal spall, cutting fatal paths through their innards.

It felt for a protracted moment as if someone had stabbed a serrated blade deep into his chest, pressing into his heart.  Heat, and pain, and a red haze boiled up from within like a wildfire caught up in a tornado.

Then April screamed.  Fyrenn felt as if the knife had been jammed into his stomach as well, and twisted.  Over, and over, and over.

Fyrenn later realized she had been screaming Sonya's name, but the sounds were unrecognizable at the time as anything but the most raw form of pain.  The pure white-hot searing emotion was unbearable.

A child deprived of the one, and only person in her life who had ever provided love, and stability.

April clutched Fyrenn's chest so hard that it hurt, burying her head against him and heaving uncontrollably as she wept.  Tears coated his chest-feathers like clear blood.

Even the corporal fell away from her door-gun, sitting down hard on the vehicle's floor plating, mouth agape.

As the VTOL rose, no one aboard moved, or spoke.

For the first time since the start of the battle, there was relative quiet.  The aural void around them made April's anguished, wracking cries all the more poignant.

Even the remaining enemy soldiers seemed completely stunned.  Fyrenn watched in a total daze as the majority threw down their weapons, dropping to their knees and placing their hands over their heads.  The rest dropped their weapons, and took off down the street at a dead run, fleeing the battlefield wholesale.

Only Minos was absent, having doubtless vanished into the nearest escape route during the confusion.

Fyrenn felt as if he was seeing the scene from afar, as the VTOL continued to rise.  At last, the pilot reached flight altitude, and held short.  The red Gryphon was jarred back into a present, real, active perception as he heard the words filtering over the man's headset.

"Albatross One;  Shinigami is moving down westerly trajectory.  Kill-corridor can be established in ten seconds.  Laze centerline of target zone for ordinance drop."

The corporal glanced up at the lieutenant commander.  The man shook his head.

At that moment, Fyrenn finally managed to internalize the red haze obscuring his perceptions.  The mist melted away, absorbing into his very bones.

He silently held out a claw to the Corporal.

For a long moment, the woman stared at the limb as if it were a completely unfamiliar, unclassifiable sight.  At last, her eyes widened, and she shook her head slowly.

"They're retreating!  Some of them are surrendering!  We can't--"

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he yanked the woman's pistol from its holster.  She foolishly tried to raise a hand, resulting it her arm and collarbone becoming wedged in a difficult position.  Fyrenn pushed her away, ignoring her hiss of pain, and the slight pop, as he sprained her wrist.

"We can't allow them to get away with this."

The Lieutenant Commander glowered, and reached up an index finger to bring his headset mic into position.

Fyrenn pierced him with a death-glare as he prepared the rail pistol's beamrider attachment.

"If you open your mouth into that microphone, I will render you incapable of speaking for the next month before you finish the first syllable, you understand me soldier?"

The tone of the words, combined with Fyrenn's sheer size and demeanor, seemed to blast through the man's resistance.  He sat back in his chair, deflated and defeated.

Fyrenn turned the pistol's muzzle on the street, carefully aligning the invisible laser designator beam so that the killbox would engulf all the fleeing soldiers, but leave most of the surrendering troops alive, if not uninjured.

He grit his beak, and held the position, as the sound of a jet turbine engine began to swell from over the tops of the buildings to his rear.

The Pilot glared as he did his best to keep the VTOL stable, his tone clearly disproving.

"You're killing innocents."

Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head.

"There are no innocents here."

As the world before him turned bright red with cleansing fire, Fyrenn clutched April close to his chest, and allowed his own tears to flow freely.





The HHK-74 'Shinigami' Drone was nearly the size and tonnage of a fully fledged manned fighter jet.  Sleek, menacing gray, and shaped like a squashed arrowhead, it lanced through the air as though it were some sort of warhead itself.

Uncaring, unfeeling, and totally automated, the vehicle was designed to receive simple vector and killbox commands from a central control post.  Field-deployed beamriders could provide additional accuracy and bounding commands when proper satellite feeds and IFF tagging were not present.

As the aircraft thundered over Tremont street, it had no qualms whatsoever about dispensing seven high-tonnage incendiary warheads directly into a series of civilian streets and structures.

Its infrared systems rightly assured it that the buildings were completely empty of civilians.  The only signatures were fleeing armored targets displaying no IFF tag.  That made them, to the Drone's AI, hostiles plain and simple.

So under the insistence of Fyrenn's beamrider, the Shinigami did the work of its namesake death-god with brutal, unquestioning efficiency.

Impact zones were selected for maximum infliction of guaranteed casualties by using simple vector predictive math.  The fact that the enemy was in full retreat was irrelevant to the machine.

The warheads were released, and shot forward under the power of their own short range motors, fins twitching manicly as they made minute corrections in the seconds leading up to impact.

In quick succession, an entire two blocks of Tremont Street vanished in a series of immense fireballs.  The fifteen armored men and women, scattering to the four winds as per their evacuation and regroup protocol, didn't even have time to look up and see their judgement descending.

The blast wave killed the vast majority instantly.  And the fire cleansed all that remained.
> Chapter 41
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 29th, Gregorian Calendar

Minos winced as the black rubberized band around his wrist constricted abruptly.  A rush of painful signals exploded from his right hand as the bones and muscles came under pressure.

The squeezing motion was followed by a series of small pinpricks, and then a wash of relief as the medical band dispensed millions of healing and nerve-damping nanites into the man's right arm.

"Explain it to me again.  In clearer terms."

The tone of the voice caused Minos to wince once more reflexively.  Calm yet saccharine sweet, in an intentionally insincere manner and timbre.

He pulled his healed wrist from the portable medical device, and rubbed it reflexively and nervously with his left hand as he spoke.

"It started with a situation report from one of the field units.  They said there was a Gryphon sticking his beak where it didn't belong."

The woman folded her hands and inclined her head, pursing her lips slightly.  Though she was seated across the chamber, her perfume was so pungent Minos wished he could don a rebreather.

He shivered and shook his head as he continued.

"I assembled a large detail, we went out to the site, and we established a perimeter.  Sure enough, there was a Gryphon in unmarked gray combat armor, interacting with two of the assets.  High risk examples.  The younger in the pair has said some concerning things in recent months."

The woman raised an eyebrow, and blinked once slowly.  Minos shrugged and waved one hand absently.

"The usual drivel the unstable younger ones tend to spout at that age.  Conversion as salvation from their condition and shit like that.  We took the assets and the intruder back to a holding facility.  Tried information extraction, but the intruder wouldn't budge.  I was on my way to you, to request permission to terminate the assets..."

The woman nodded sagely, and sighed, speaking in a manner that left Minos feeling vaguely guilty for no discernable reason.

"And it was at this point that you diverted to cut off their escape attempt."

Minos returned the nod and sighed as well.

"We didn't have enough assets on site to properly contain the three of them all at once.  The evacuation has put a lot of pressure on the troops to perform at a higher standard.  Some of them can't handle it."

The woman dipped her head and pursed her lips once more, allowing a hint of forced doubt to creep into her voice.

"My colleagues are starting to question whether *you* can handle this tasking.  Under your supervision both the intruder, and one of the assets, were able to make an escape.  And there is the still-vexing concern of discovering how this Gryphon learned of the assets in the first place."

Minos rose, and ran a hand through his hair, doing his best to cloak his frustration for the sake of self preservation.

"Well what do you suggest I do?"

The woman shook her head, and rose as well, straightening her violently orange jacket with a sniff.

"You will do nothing for the moment.  I will make enquiries, and then I will make a judgement call once we are fully aware of all the situational variables."

Minos nodded, and inclined his head.

"Yes Councilor."





"She finally fell asleep on the staff-lounge sofa.  Here's hoping she'll finally get some rest."

Fyrenn glanced at each member around the table in turn as he approached.

"I want to know just what the hell happened out there," Lantry sat back and folded his arms as he spoke.

Fyrenn exhaled, and collapsed into a sitting position beside Kephic at the table.  The room's ambient lighting was tuned to its dimmest night-time setting, giving the vast space an eerie aspect in conjunction with its emptiness.

Normally the Bureau's cafeteria was an inviting location.  To Fyrenn, it suddenly felt like a space he'd never inhabited before.  The effect was familiar to him.  After emotional trauma a familiar location could often become uncannily strange in one's eyes.

He sighed, and shook his head.

"My thoughts exactly.  Who were these people and wherefore did they get the gall to assault military assets so brazenly?"

Lantry's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward.

"Let's put that aside for the moment, and start with *your* behavior.  Just what did you think you were going to accomplish when you ordered a heavy hunter-killer drone to release a full payload of incendiaries on *retreating* targets, in direct violation of protocol you're sworn to uphold?"

Fyrenn stiffened.  The other members of the group instantly reacted by fixing their eyes on him.  Carradan exhaled sharply, uncrossing his legs and abandoning his position leaning against the near wall in favor of a standing pose.

Skye winced, and backed away from the table.  Varan remained impassive, but Kephic and Neyla began shaking their heads slowly.  Everyone save Lantry seemed to know what was coming.

Fyrenn allowed his emotions to ever-so-slightly govern his tone, practically dipping his words in steel and grinding them to razor sharp serrated points as he flung them at Lantry with a calm that belied his inner roiling struggles with comportment.

"I'm not entirely sure what they taught you at command school, or what you've picked up, or missed, in your years of field experience, but let me tell you something General..."

Fyrenn leaned forward as well, the lights casting the curve of his beak in a lurid fluorescent blue that made it look like nothing so much as plated steel, coated in gold paint.

"When *I* win a fight?  I like to make sure I win every possible future fight I might conceivably have with that particular undesirable, unworthy, scummy waste of useful breathable air.  I don't permit loose ends on the battlefield.  Ever.  If your protocol has a complaint, it can talk to my feathered red ass during office hours.  Weekdays from nine to five."

Lantry placed both hands on the table, and tried to further harden his face, but Kephic and Fyrenn both noticed a slight reflexive pull-back in his center of mass, indicative of his inner instinctive nervousness.

The Human self preservation reflex simply couldn't cope with the idea of provoking a predator.  Nonetheless, Lantry's anger over-rode his common sense, and he spoke, forcing each word out through gritted teeth.

"You will remember your place when speaking to a superior officer, particularly one who was woken up in the middle of the night and flown all the way across the continent because a subordinate executed fleeing enemies in cold blood.  Your little stuns killed two of the surrendering troopers as well.  You could be charged for this."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and snorted, causing Lantry to jump reflexively, ever-so-slightly.

"As to the first point, I'm oh so sorry you were inconvenienced.  While you were busy sleeping it off in a comfortable reclining executive-class seat, I was having my right wing scanned.  The one I had dislocated in a hydraulic press.  Right before I was inside a humvee that got overturned by a missile." 

Fyrenn leaned forward again, bringing his beak dangerously close to Lantry's face.

"Right before I watched a little girl pull the pin off a grenade and fall on it because what these people were doing to her?  Was something I can't even describe to your mammalian prey-brain without melting it into a blubbering cup of gelatin.  You'll excuse me if I'm feeling just a little bit snippish."

The red Gryphon sat back, and exhaled sharply in disgust as he finished.

"As to charges?  You tell whoever is putting those ideas on your desk that they're kindly advised to read the after-action report.  If I remorselessly dropped five thousand kilos of incendiaries on fleeing targets after hiking a rail-saw half a mile in my bare claws, killing a couple-dozen more enemy soldiers in the process?  What do you think your superiors could possibly do by way of applying any punitive actions to me?  And what do you think I'd do to them if they tried?"

Lantry glowered, but pulled away nonetheless, finally giving in to his internal alarm bells and distancing himself from Fyrenn's sharper edges.

"You're way out of line.  But as you pointed out, you've been through a lot.  Because of your past service, I'm going to pretend, for your sake, that your emotional trauma makes a passable excuse for that rank insubordination."

The General sighed, and chewed on his lower lip momentarily, before continuing.

"Take some leave.  That's not a request.  You'll need to check-in any official armaments with supply command, and from then on you're restricted from access to the armory, or any other military installation.  Your command codes will be temporarily paused, and if you keep your beak shut then I can make any attempts at charges go away."

Varan stood, picked up a coffee carafe, and spoke calmly as he glanced down into its murky dregs.

"Not wise."

Lantry blinked several times, then cocked his head and fixed the Gryphon with an affronted stare.

"Excuse me?!  Do you have something to add?"

Varan shrugged as Kephic, Neyla, and Fyrenn silently handed him their carafes, and moved towards the kitchen at a sedate pace.

Kephic chuckled grimly, and offered the General a highly discomfiting grin.

"I think what my brother is trying to convey is that you're flying into dangerous thunderheads.  When we judge who is guilty in a situation like this, we blame those who stand in our way, or validate the actions, as much as we blame those who committed the first evil itself."

Lantry glowered sullenly, and folded his arms in a defensive gesture.

"I'm not condoning what these people did.  You don't think we're in enough of a panic-mode already?  We're one inch away from gutting the entire Earthgov military, burning the command structure to the ground, and handing everything over to the JRSF.  And that was just over the HLF.  Whoever these people are, they'll get what's coming to them."

Neyla scoffed, and tossed her head to the side, rolling her eyes in frustration.

"I've seen your politics.  You'll flush out a few scapegoats, hang them high in the public square, and turn a blind eye to the ones who orchestrated it all.  Because we all know that something this large is being run from the inside."

Fyrenn nodded, and interjected before Lantry could open his mouth to respond.

"You and your superiors and colleagues won't risk rocking the boat, especially not at a time like this.  I'll bet you whatever you like that by tomorrow afternoon someone who outranks even your boss will come marching through the front doors, demanding custody of that little girl.  She's a liability to them, of monstrous proportions."

Lantry nodded slowly, finally managing to get a word in.

"Maybe so.  And what of it?  If their claim is legitimate---"

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head once, sharply cutting the General off.

"And if their claim is legitimate they won't object to a waiting period while an internal probe is launched.  That child does not leave this building under any supervision but mine, until I'm satisfied with the outcome of this.  Before you object to *that* statement, you should remember that the last time someone took a fledgling away from a Gryphon, a whole race paid the price."

The General squeezed his eyes shut in frustration.  Fyrenn calmly accepted his carafe from Varan as the latter dispensed the fruits of his coffee run to the table.

"You're not listening to me.  She's not a 'fledgling,' she's a Human being, and a de-facto citizen even if she is a street orphan.  That makes her a ward of the state."

Fyrenn chuckled and took a long sip of his coffee before responding, allowing the warmth of the drink to flow into his stomach, and then out into his sore muscles.

"And General, you're not listening to me either.  I suggest you start now if you want to live to see next month."

The pure shock of the bald-faced threat generated enough stunned silence to allow Fyrenn to finish in a low, ominous tone.

"At this stage I don't care about Human rules.  Human regulations.  Human laws.  Human lives.  Right now I don't trust any non-Gryphon involved in military or government positions, besides Hutch and Commander Aston.  April stays under my watch until this is done.  After that you can start putting her through the appropriate foster-placement process, and I'll be content to follow the rules to the letter."

Lantry opened his mouth to object once more, and Fyrenn responded by hissing.  The sound was low, and drawn out, and as it entered his ears, Lantry's skin blanched white as paper.

"I will not accept compromise on this point.  If anyone is delusional enough to challenge me on this?  I will have a 'pointed exchange' with then, and smear what's left all over the nearest flat surface like a Jackson Pollock.  I will not warn you again.  If you like your skin where it is Miles?  I kindly advise you to *fuck.* *right.* *off.*"

Every being in the room understood the implication as Fyrenn dropped formal ranks in favor of Lantry's given name.

The General shook his head slowly, and exhaled.

"Sometimes I wonder if your kind is worth the hassle."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and snorted.

"Sometimes we ask ourselves the same question about Humans.  You are exceedingly lucky that we have, thus far, been generous in our response."

Varan set down his carafe just loudly enough to draw everyone's attention, then spoke calmly.

"Have we learned anything as-yet from the prisoners we took?"

Lantry shook his head and sighed in resignation.

"Nothing beyond the fact that they're all Earthgov active-duty reservists.  Whoever runs their operation handles it like a terror cell.  Soldiers know each other's identities within a cell, but know little or nothing about their superiors, the reasons for their orders, or anything going on in the other cells.  Most of them are even claiming that they're part of a legitimate branch with over-riding authority."

Fyrenn scoffed into his coffee, and raised a claw to wipe dribbles away from the side of his beak.

"And you believe them?"

Lantry shrugged, his voice growing colder as he addressed the red Gryphon indirectly, unwilling to meet his burning golden eyes.

"Our interrogators say that the prisoners believe what they're saying.  There have always been rumors about a secret Echelon of the military tasked with deeper-than black-book intelligence work, but if you ask me, its nothing more than that.  Rumors."

The General finally glanced at Fyrenn, his tone growing passively aggressive once more.

"Which leads me to another question;  How in the sam-hill did you know where to look for these little girls?  What or who got you into this shit-heap of a mess in the first place?"

"That would be my fault."

All eyes snapped towards the cafeteria entrance.  The sight of Hutch on his feet, one arm threaded through Aston's for support, brought smiles of varying degree to everyone's faces.

The Commander helped the General into a chair, and he sat down hard, breathing heavily from his exertions.  Fyrenn poured a steaming mug of coffee from the central unused carafe, and passed the drink to Hutch with a small smile.

The General nodded appreciatively and took a long draught before continuing.

"The children Fyrenn found...  He went after them at my behest.  They, and others, were present during the Hamilton incident.  They were trained and ordered to execute all witnesses, but I convinced them to do otherwise.  I barely escaped with my life, and I had no desire to endanger theirs, or mine further by filing a report."

Lantry sighed again, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Is everyone in this command hell-bent on committing some form of insubordination this month?!"

Aston shrugged and offered a sardonic grimace as she took a seat, accepting a warm mug from Neyla in the process.

"I'm sure I can arrange to do something terribly naughty before the thirty first if you want to make it a holy trifecta."

Lantry glared, and raised an index finger.

"Can it, Commander.  I already have enough problems with one mouthy subordinate.  You don't have the benefit of a beak and claws to grant you leeway."

The elder General turned to Hutch, and scowled.

"You;  File a report at the first available juncture, and leave nothing out this time."

He turned next to Fyrenn, and leveled a finger.

"You;  Weapons to the armory as soon as you leave this room, and after that you're off active duty until I decide otherwise."

Finally, Lantry turned to Aston, glaring as he rose and straightened his jacket.

"And you;  Try to be a good influence on these clowns instead of letting them rub off on you."

The General sighed, spun on one heel, and marched out of the room without saying another word.  Hutch wisely chose to dismiss the outburst and change the topic as swiftly as possible.

"How is April?"

Fyrenn winced reflexively, and gripped his carafe tighter.

"Traumatized.  Her sister was the only good thing she had in life, and the only real social contact she's ever had.  She finally stopped crying around noon, but she wouldn't eat or speak.  It was a struggle just to get water in her to stave off dehydration."

Skye finally spoke, relaxing as the tension in the room gradually dissipated with Lantry's exit.

"She held on to Fyrenn like he was her only anchor to sanity itself.  They had to pry her off, literally, just to do a preliminary medical exam.  After that, I don't think they've been apart until just now."

Kephic stared into the table, as if his eyes could bore through the plastic like twin lasers.

"Death is different when it is family, true...  But it is incomprehensible when you have to witness it at a young age.  It changes you.  Permanently.  And you have to decide pretty swiftly if that will be for better, or for worse."

Fyrenn offered his brother a consoling claw on his shoulder.  He knew the speckled Gryphon spoke from direct and horrific experience.

Hutch leaned forward, clutching his mug in both hands and piercing Fyrenn with a serious gaze.

"Don't underestimate the way this affects *you* either.  You had to see it too."

Neyla nodded slowly, and ducked her head around to force Fyrenn to lock eyes with her.

"And let me be the first to warn you;  If you even think about blaming yourself for what happened to Sonya, I will thrash sense back into you using whatever means I deem necessary, and that *will* result in bruises."

Carradan chuckled slightly, while Skye and Kephic nodded their agreement.  Fyrenn smiled wanly, and nodded.  He lacked the energy for objection, to either Neyla or Stan.

Aston sat back, and sighed.

"It has been a hell of a day, and I mean that in the most literal sense possible."

Varan nodded sagely, and inclined his head.

"The Commander is wise in her implication.  We should all be resting while we may, so that we will be prepared to carry on this struggle tomorrow."

Fyrenn rose, and grimaced.

"No kidding.  Assuming I can get the memories off the back of my eyes long enough to keep them closed."





"One standard issue rail-SMG, RAC-9 minus scope...  Any grenades knives or other unconventional weapons?"

Fyrenn shook his head as he dropped the rifle and extra-large machine pistol onto the armory counter.

"No."

The red Gryphon followed the staff Sergeant's eyes to the hilt of his sword, and growled.

"Nothing that belongs to you, at any rate."

The man gestured silently to a subordinate, who snapped up the projectile weapons and took them behind the counter for disassembly and cleaning.

He crossed his arms, and did his best to offer Fyrenn a stern face.

"General Lantry came down here, in person, to deliver specific orders;  We are to relieve you of every weapon 'cept the ones the good Lord built right into you."

Fyrenn reached over his shoulder and tapped the hilt of the blade, raising an eyebrow slowly.

"I forged this weapon.  I've carried it into places and situations where even your best armaments would fail.  It never leaves my side.  You want my sword?  Feel free to step around that counter and ask me again.  But I won't pay for your coffin.  Or for them to stitch what's left to you back together so they can bury you in something roughly approximating 'one piece.'  What belongs to me?  Stays with me."

The man sighed, and waved Fyrenn off with one hand.

"Given the choice between the General taking off my head metaphorically, or you taking it off literally, I'll stick with the safe bet."

The Gryphon nodded, and flashed the man a predatory smile.

"Smart choice."





As the night dragged on, Fyrenn's world collapsed into a continuous haze of painful reds, oranges, and yellows.  His nightmares, for once, were not so much coherent images as a tidal wave of raw boundless emotions which were not yet fully dealt with.  Truly restful sleep was utterly impossible.

At last, however, one sharp object resolved itself in the fog.  Achingly familiar, and painfully close.  Yet somehow not quite close enough to touch.

Fyrenn did his best to focus on Sonya's face.  To reach out.  To speak, or even perk his ears and listen.  But she remained silent.  Little more than an effigy staring dolefully into his eyes.

When the Gryphon finally managed to gain control of his ethereal claws, the haze abruptly snapped away into darkness, which nearly instantly gave way in turn to the relieving sight of a familiar gray wall panel.

Fyrenn blinked several times, and sighed deeply before rotating his head left enough to bring the room's windows into view.

He judged the time to be late morning, based on the angle of the Equestrian sunlight.  The tone of the clear golden rays mixed with the dim gray of the Earthly sky in a peculiar way.  It felt as if there were some sort of impending storm rising eternally in the west.

Fyrenn stretched and spent a long moment indulging an enormous yawn.  Only after he had rolled his shoulders and stretched his wings several more times, did the significance of the late-morning sun hit him fully.

He rose abruptly and made his way to the door, pausing only to retrieve his sword, scabbard, and the leather straps to secure it in the absence of armor.

As he descended towards the lobby in the lift, he absently set about securing the weapon to his back.  His thoughts were split between the images of his fitful half-sleep, and concern over April.  Threading the various buckles required to secure his sword had become such a fixed morning routine, that his claws practically did the work without any intervention from his brain.

The moment the lift doors opened, Fyrenn shot out like a cannonball, forcing himself to reduce his pace to a fast walk as he encountered the morning cafeteria crowd.

He did his best to avoid the steady stream of Humans and Ponies as he ducked and weaved his way towards the nearest corridor.

As he reached the door to the staff lounge, he steeled himself mentally.  Without pausing or knocking, he barreled into the room at top speed.  The sight before him brought him up short in confusion, and relief.

Clustered around the central table, April, Neyla, and Varan were busy devouring a large breakfast of synthetic meat strips, fresh fruit, and warm bread.

Fyrenn carefully probed April's visage as he moved across the room at a more sedate pace.

The young girl was eating, which Fyrenn considered to be major progress.  Her face was, on the surface, neutral.  But below the relatively calm visage lurked a thousand subtle signs of pain, fear, and outright depression.

From the glaze in her eyes, to the pallor in her skin, and the taut muscles in her shoulders, April practically exuded emotional warning signs.  She glanced up from her spot between the other two Gryphons, and offered Fyrenn a small, sad smile.  The simplicity of the gesture pierced Fyrenn in a way he was completely unprepared for.

Before he knew it, he found himself squeezing between his brother, and Neyla, simultaneously scooping April into a brief hug, and then a protected position between his forelegs.

As the child continued to slowly, but steadily devour the contents of her plate, Fyrenn shot silent looks of thanks towards Neyla and Varan.

A long moment of quiet companionship passed, punctuated only by a series of gentle exchanges as Neyla and Varan passed Fyrenn the makings of his own breakfast.

When the red Gryphon had consumed a sufficient quantity of food to quench his morning hunger pangs, he glanced down at April with the most cheerful smile he could genuinely summon.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up.  I overslept."

April once again flashed a slight, childish, achingly sad smile.

"That's ok.  You were up later than I was.  Neyla was there.  She introduced me to your brother...  Or at least one of them."

Fyrenn chuckled wryly, and shook his head slowly.

"Varan is the sane one, and he's probably the lion's share of the family's self control.  When he's funny, we can't tell if he means it, or if he's being clueless.  Kephic is...  Well he's always almost always being funny on some level."

April glanced back and forth between Neyla and Fyrenn, before squinting slightly, and tilting her head.

"She's not related to you?"

Neyla shook her head.

"No.  But we've been good friends for almost four years."

Fyrenn smiled slightly, and nodded down at April.

"You can trust her.  I know I do."

April nodded firmly, and speared the last of her fruit pieces with her fork.

"I know.  She's a Gryphon like you."

Varan raised an eyebrow, and thrummed deep in his chest approvingly.

"Smart girl."

Fyrenn carefully extricated himself, and rose, stretching once more to get the last of his morning muscle tension out.  He reached out, scooped up April in one claw, and deposited her over his right shoulder onto his back.

She giggled ever so slightly, and though the moment was gone in an instant, the sound warmed the red Gryphon's heart in a way that made the entire world seem to glow.

"Come on.  You need to meet the rest of our little family."

Flanked protectively by Neyla and Varan, Fyrenn made his way carefully back to the lift.  Once the group was stationary, and the compartment had begun to rise, the red Gryphon spared a glance over his shoulder.

April's eyes were as wide as tea saucers.  Her head pivoted almost mechanically as she tried desperately to take in the scope of the crowd below.

Fyrenn realized that her revelatory experience was in many ways similar to the one he had experienced as part of his Conversion.  April's world had been dim, lonely, and enclosed for the majority of her waking life.

Suddenly, she was surrounded by vast well-lit swooping architecture, and bustling crowds of lively people.  Humans, Ponies, Gryphons, a few Dragons, and even the very occasional Lupine or Minotaur.

To her young mind the sights were quite literally the most astonishing thing in the world, by an incredible margin.

Fyrenn winced as the girl's expression fell abruptly.  He realized that she was thinking of Sonya.  Wishing she could have shared in the moment.  He squeezed his neck and shoulder together gently, momentarily burying April halfway into his neck feathers.

She reached out and clung tightly to his head, only letting go when the lift reached its destination, and the doors hissed open.

Kephic stood in the corridor, waiting to greet the quartet as they exited the carriage.  He put on his best charming smile, and waved towards April with one claw.

"Good morning!"

Fyrenn smiled, and disembarked April from his shoulder.  As she glanced upwards at the speckled Gryphon, he knelt, and offered her a claw.

"I'm Kephic."

April stepped forward cautiously, ignoring the proffered claw, and instead opting for a quick, coy embrace of Kephic's neck before stepping back, and flashing a wan, sheepish smile.

Kephic blinked rapidly, then let out a half chuckle, and an embarrassed smile.  He jerked a claw towards the conference room at the end of the hallway.

"Hutch, Aston, and the others are waiting."

As Neyla and Varan made their way to the entryway, shepherding April between them, Kephic leaned over and whispered in Fyrenn's ear.

"That kid is bad for our cynicism."

Fyrenn shot his brother a slight grin in return.

"Good."
> Chapter 42
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 29th, Gregorian Calendar

The long moment of silence was broken by Hutch, as he shifted awkwardly in his chair, trying to relieve some of the stress on his dermoplast patches.

"That's...  A weighty life's story kid."

April sighed, and glanced away, through the room's thin, but tall window slit.

Hutch sighed and shook his head slowly.

"I hope you understand why I didn't exactly keep my promise precisely as I said it.  If I'd known any other way..."

April swiveled her head sharply, and locked her doleful eyes on the General's unflinchingly.

"No.  You don't owe me an apology sir.  If you hadn't told Fyrenn where to look, we might never have escaped at all.  I'm glad he found us.  And I'm glad you got out ok."

Fyrenn winced at April's reflexive use of plural pronouns.  The General smiled slightly, and dipped his head.

"I appreciate that.  Believe me.  We all wish it hadn't turned out quite this way."

April nodded, and inhaled slowly.

"I know."

Hutch raised an eyebrow, and leveled a finger.

"And kiddo;  It's 'Hutch,' not 'Sir' or 'General' or 'Mister.'  I won't let my closest subordinates call me something that makes me feel old, so do you think I'm going to let you get away with it?"

Once again, April flashed her melancholy smile.  Fyrenn felt his chest clench reflexively, and on the spot he made himself a silent promise;  He would make sure that sooner, rather than later, that smile would have more joy than sadness in it.

The red Gryphon shifted his position slightly to make room for April to seat herself in the crook of his right wing.  As she nestled into the space and clutched at his side, his expression hardened, and he spoke out.

"So now we're all up to speed.  As far as I'm concerned the only people we can trust in terms of this issue are yourself, Aston, and our little family.  The people in this room.  No more, no less."

Hutch nodded sharply, raising an eyebrow and directing his gaze sideways at Fyrenn.

"No argument there.  I got to my desk this morning and the first thing in my stack was a very strongly worded set of orders to bar you from access to any sensitive areas, documents, personnel, or equipment until further notice."

He sighed and sat back to relieve some of the tension in his spine.

"Right under it was a memo recommending, in no uncertain terms, that I be kept to minimum duty and command authority for the sake of 'recovery.' "

Carradan snorted, and shook his head.

"They think Aston will be easier to puppet.  They must not know her very well."

The Commander held up a hand, and leaned back against the wall behind Hutch.

"I agree that there's something rotten going on here.  And you're right, I am nobody's puppet.  But I also think you're all blowing your reactions out of proportion.  Whoever these guys are, their main weapon is, or was, secrecy.  With that gone, I don't think its worth going to lengths like insubordination, let alone flagrant regulations violations..."

Aston glanced briefly in Fyrenn's direction, her expression a mixture of apologetic condemnation, and nervous hedging.

"...A pinch of subtlety here will be worth ten tons of direct intervention, and with considerably fewer bad side effects a decade down the line."

Fyrenn sighed and inclined his head slowly as he searched for a way to phrase his response.

"For now, I'll keep my instincts in check.  We'll see what the enemy does, and plan based on that.  Is that an agreeable compromise?"

Hutch and Aston both nodded silently.  April, Skye, Carradan, and the other three Gryphons remained still and silent.  Neither April nor the Ponies had no real say in the action plan from a military standpoint, and Fyrenn knew the other Gryphons would back him.

He rose, and shepherded April towards the door with one wing.  As the glass panes slid aside to accommodate him, he glanced over his shoulder towards the two officers, and fired off a parting statement.

"I think it's only fair to warn you what might happen next.  You're my friends, so this isn't a threat.  I'm saying this so you can make preparations to avoid the blowback, by distancing yourself from my actions, and giving yourself plausible deniability.  My behavior from this point in is on me, and me alone."

Fyrenn paused, and his eyes hardened into sun-like orbs of determination.

"If this doesn't go any higher...  If there are no further threats to April's safety?  Then I'll play this by the book, and the orders, from now on.  No muss, no fuss.  But if this escalates?  I will put a swift, and definitive end to it.  In fire.  And in blood."





"This is barbaric!"

The pastel purple female Unicorn shook her head violently, nearly dislodging the small paper cap that identified her as a nurse.

Fyrenn nodded, and held up a claw in a conciliatory gesture.

"Ms. Hart, no one is disagreeing with that statement.  The question now is whether or not we can undo the damage."

The Nurse blinked, and sighed, nodding meekly.

"I'm sorry.  It just...  To see a child, of any species, in a condition like this?"

Fyrenn nodded and patted the unicorn's shoulder reassuringly with his right claw.

"I know.  Believe me I know."

Nurse Hart sighed once more, squeezed her eyes shut briefly, then inhaled deeply and moved to a console by the far wall, silently burying herself in her work.

The lighting in the medical bay had been turned to its most subdued setting.  Glowing patterns from holographic interface panels danced across the curvature of the walls.  Fyrenn glanced around the familiar space, reflecting briefly on how well it had been designed.

The colors, shapes, and even the humidity and temperature, were all aligned to make the space as comforting and disarming as physically possible.

April lay face-down on a biobed, the back of her medical gown opened to reveal the hideous metallic beast of a machine grafted into her spine.  Holographic viewports displaying electron microscope data hovered around an instrument cluster suspended above the biobed.

Despite lacking professional medical skills, Fyrenn could easily pick out the nanites churning amongst the other cells in April's bloodstream.

"Can we at least shut the nanites down?"

From behind a low-slung console, Skye's voice issued forth, followed by the top of her head as she peeked over the beige plastic curve of the surface.

"As much as I really hate to admit it...  No."

The Unicorn leapt up from behind the workstation, and trotted over to the biobed.  April reached out with one hand reflexively, and Fyrenn took it in one claw briefly, placing it against his left wing.

Skye smiled at April as she passed, and nuzzled her face gently, eliciting a small giggle.

The Unicorn continued around the side of the biobed, raising one hoof and gently manipulating the nearest microscope projection.

"These little monsters are like nothing I've ever seen before.  On their own, they have little or no intelligence.  But together?  They form a Beowulf cluster."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head, as he summoned every ounce of computer knowledge at his disposal.  Though he was by no means skilled, as compared to a programmer of Skye's caliber, he had a more extensive understanding than the average denizen.

"You mean those little things are forming an interconnected parallel computing array?"

Skye nodded sharply.

"It's actually ridiculously ingenious.  Rather than wasting space and power on a wireless transmitter, the nanites instead use conductive fluids already within the bloodstream, as well as less traveled neural routes within the body's own synapses, to communicate with each other.  The main processor and wireless array in the spine device act as a loose command and control center."

Fyrenn glanced back at the image, and exhaled slowly.

"What kind of power does this array have in total?"

The tan Unicorn winced, and sighed.

"This is where it gets even more nasty.  Aside from fairly average military-grade medical and anti-virologic nanites, the majority of the little buggers in her system are designed to channel her nervous impulses for the chips that create her telekinesis fields.  This means they lock onto the ends of neurons.  This also means they have access to those neurons for their own purposes."

Fyrenn shivered reflexively as he voiced his response in an undertone too low for Human hearing, but easily within the Equine range.

"So they can use her own synapses as extra processing hardware?"

Skye nodded slowly, and swiped one hoof across the holographic plate, switching it over to a series of graphs and charts as she responded subvocally in kind.

"She is a walking biocomputing cluster, roughly equal to the high-end positronics you'd find at any military base.  Even our best AI wouldn't be able to do anything other than get locked up in a never-ending struggle with the central control software that runs her systems.  Best case nothing happens.  Worst case, the bloody things start chewing on her brain in desperation to access more neurons."

The red Gryphon gestured with one claw aggressively.

"And you don't think there's a safe way to remove them?"

Skye shook her head emphatically, swishing her tail in aggravation at her perceived helplessness.

"They'll violently resist any and all attempts at tampering.  If we try to attack them with other nanites they'll resist.  If we try to inject inhibitor compounds to break their communication links, they'll eventually manage to attack, contain, and dissolve those."

As the Unicorn spoke, she dashed back to her desk, then made the return journey with a small black device clutched in her magic field.  The object looked similar to a medical monitoring wristband.

As she carefully worked the object onto April's right wrist, she offered the young girl a winning smile.

"This is a wireless transmission jammer.  It's designed to conform to your body's bioelectric field, so you won't interfere with anything around you.  Its strong enough that it can block a main-line transmitter as close as two feet away.  This way if you have to, or want to leave the defensive zone around the Bureau, you can do so safely."

April rotated her wrist left, then right, allowing the overhead light to catch the glossy black surface of the life-saving jewelry.

She smiled, reached out, and snagged Skye in the best hug she could manage from her position.  The Unicorn returned the gesture as best she could, mirroring the child's smile.

Fyrenn patted his friend on the back lightly, and allowed himself a small upturn in the corners of his beak.

"That's very thoughtful Skye.  Well done."

She winked, and inclined her head.

"Age of the geek my feathered friend.  Age of the geek."

Fyrenn chuckled, and sighed.

"And there's no geek quite like our geek."

The Gryphon, both Unicorns, and April simultaneously glanced up as the room's main doors slid open, and Varan strode purposefully in from the corridor.  Fyrenn could tell instantly, from his brother's expression, that he bore bad news.

The gold Gryphon nodded once curtly, and jerked his head towards the hall.  Fyrenn raised his claw, squeezed April's hand comfortingly, then glanced down at Skye.

"Will you look after her for a bit?  I'll make sure either Neyla or Kephic are down here shortly to help out."

Skye grinned, and ruffled April's hair with one hoof.

"Say no more feathers.  I've got this covered."

Fyrenn flashed both April, and Skye a grateful and comforting smile, before making his way swiftly out into the corridor.  As soon as the door had softly whisked into its closed position, Varan's brow knit, and he began speaking in a low, concerned, icy tone.

"There is someone here asking about April.  A Councilor.  Hutch says she has been here before.  She filled Korvan's old seat when he was thrown out.  He also wanted me to warn you that she is and I use his Human euphemism here... 'A piece of work.'  Apparently even Korvan was concerned about her.  He sent me for you straight away, he is buying you time at present."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, his ears flattened, and his gaze hardened.  He took off towards the lift at the fastest walking pace he could muster, without breaking into an all-out lope.

"Please find Kephic or Neyla, and stay with April and Skye until I handle this.  I don't trust the 'powers that be' and I wouldn't put it past them to try and snatch that poor girl right out from under us, using this meeting as a distraction."

Varan nodded curtly, and displayed one of his rare smiles.  The expression, far from kind or cheerful, was purely predatory.

"I do not think they will have much success today."





Fyrenn steeled himself mentally, and stepped through the double door into the conference room.  The chamber was on the west side of the Bureau's structure, and thus didn't receive direct sunlight.

On the other claw, it commanded an excellent view of downtown Manhattan.

The red Gryphon found himself completely unprepared for the sight that greeted his eyes.  For the first time in a long time, the scene filling his vision was simply so ridiculous, it took conscious effort to cope.

Hutch sat, arms crossed, at one end of the table.  At the far end, flanked by a body-guard, sat a woman who defied conventional description.  Her jacket and pants seemed to be made of a material intentionally designed to defy decent sensibilities.

The coloration, a stark shade of putrid neon green, was little-better.

Hutch rose, and gestured expansively.

"Fyrenn, this is Councilor Menera Loryss.  She replaced Mathas Korvan as the local district's representative.  Councilor this is Lieutenant Commander Fyrenn."

Fyrenn offered her a halfway decent impression of a forced smile, though the tone in his single word response betrayed his true sentiments.

"Charmed."

The woman dipped her head ever-so-slightly, and pursed her lips.

"You are the one responsible for bringing the girl in?"

The Gryphon's eyes narrowed slightly, and he nodded slowly.  He did his best to keep his tone even, and his gaze neutral.

"Yes.  I am."

The Councilor nodded curtly, and stood, smoothing her jacket and cracking a hint of a tepid smile.

"Good.  Kindly direct me to her."

Fyrenn chuckled, a dangerous undertone working its way into the rumbling noise.

"Excuse me?"

Loryss raised an eyebrow and squeezed her lips together so firmly, that the blood left them and they turned white.

"You heard me.  Direct me to the child immediately."

Fyrenn grit his beak, forcing the first three words out through his syrinx without even moving his yellow facial weapon.

"On what authority?  If I may ask?  You aren't in my chain of command.  And while you might be a Councilor, that doesn't give you leave to walk out of here with a child who isn't under your legal protection."

The woman stiffened, and her nose rose abruptly into the air in a reflexive sign of disdain and affront.

"She is an official legal ward of the state.  As duly elected Councilor for this region, I am the state.  I have absolute authority over that girl as her officially designated legal guardian."

Fyrenn held his position for a long, silent moment.  The air conditioning vent above the door toyed idly with the tufts of feather and fur on the tips of his ears.  Without breaking his impromptu staring contest with Councilor Loryss, Fyrenn directed his words towards Hutch.

"Sir.  May we have the room please?"

After another brief, silent, motionless interlude, the General rose and made his way sedately towards the door.  As he reached the portal, he gave Fyrenn a pained glance, midway between a veiled warning, and deep concern.

"I'll be in my office if you need me."

Yet another silent interlude followed.  When Fyrenn's ears told him Hutch had reached the lift at the end of the hall, he gestured with one claw to the Councilor's empty chair.

"Sit down."

The Gryphon moved down the row of chairs and singled out one shaped specifically for his species.  He slowly lowered himself into position, and crossed his forelegs on the smooth granite surface of the conference table, before speaking again.

"Let's not mince words.  You're involved in this.  Judging by the influence you're bringing to bear, you're high in this 'organization's' food chain.  Yes?"

Loryss folded her hands demurely and inclined her head.

"I am...  A watcher.  You could say that I belong to a different Echelon of the government than the one you hail from.  It is our job to defend the unwitting populace, and so in that we share something in common."

Fyrenn allowed himself a hollow smile, and a deceptively cheery timbre.

"Oooh I don't think we share much, if anything, in common Councilor.  I'll be happy to let you prove me wrong though.  Give me a waiting period.  Leave April in my care until an internal probe as to her origins is completed.  If you agree to that, then I'll deliver her directly to social services, as the law requires, as soon as the investigation is complete."

Councilor Loryss sat back, and and shook her head slowly.

"I'm not the sort who takes requests from your type, nor your kind.  So I'll make myself heard one more time, and let me be frank.  This is not a request.  Take me to the asset, and hand her over for processing.  Now."

"No.  Absolutely not."

Fyrenn's voice was calm, icy, and forceful.

Councilor Loryss smiled and shook her head, an expression that generated a disturbing marriage of demure, coy, and predatory. 

"I'm afraid you have no say in the matter."

She glanced around the room and gestured with both hands.

"Are we not in a Conversion Bureau?  Are we not in Manhattan?  Then this falls under my jurisdiction.  In spite of recent changes to the accords that effectively make this building sovereign territory, those agreements only cover specific laws.  None of them pertaining to guardianship, adoption, or any related topic."

Loryss stood, and once again reflexively straightened her jacket.  

"A cadre will be along shortly to..."

The Councilor's sentence was abruptly, and forcefully brought to a premature close as Fyrenn, silently as a cat, or a hunting falcon, crossed the room, putting one of his enormous golden eyes, and menacing beak, within a few millimeters of Menera's face.

Fyrenn's fear wasn't visibly evident, but the suited woman before him terrified him more than any army of Wisps.  He was thankful her Human senses couldn't detect the subtle tells that would give away the mixture of horror and terror tainting his aggressive stance.

His voice remained quiet, but a dangerous edge was creeping into it. 

"I think you are missing some critical facts so let me clarify,"  Fyrenn continued to lean in, forcing the woman to scoot backwards awkwardly to avoid having her face sliced with the leading tip of his beak as he spoke. 

"I do not trust you.  I don't trust the government you claim to represent.  I have no idea how far you people have gone... How deeply your cancer goes.  But I promise you, I am going to find out.  And until I do?  The child remains under the safest possible protection.  Mine."

Fyrenn snapped his beak shut harshly, causing the councilor's bodyguard to jump, and unclasp his weapon holster.  The red Gryphon took a moment to shoot him a warning glance that almost stopped the man breathing.  

He turned back to councilor Loryss, eyes practically exuding the toxicity of his rage.

"If you, or anyone from your little... 'Echelon,' set foot within a mile of that little girl...  If you so much as *breathe* about taking her...  About murdering her, again...  I won't hesitate to kill.  Violently.  Mercilessly.  Messily.  That goes for you as much as for the lowest underling you're willing to dispose of.  None of you are innocent in my eyes, and so none of you shall receive mercy."

Fyrenn pulled back, and spent a moment composing himself, to prevent his voice from breaking.  
His heart was beating so fast it felt like the constant thrum of a vehicle engine in his chest.  The mixture of emotions, pervaded by terror and fury, were overwhelming beyond any negative experience he had ever been party to, with the possible exception of Skye's 'death.'

When the Gryphon next spoke, his voice had resumed a steely calm. 

"I would... 'Suggest' Councilor that you have outstayed your welcome.  You are not among friends here.  I am.  I'd 'suggest' in fact that you leave, and pray I only do major damage to your political career when I disassemble this...  Proceeding," Fyrenn spat the word, as an epithet, "And nail it to the dead carcass of your career, public image, and reputation."

He stiffened, and tilted his head slightly as he continued.

"The alternative is that I nail it to your very literal carcass in the street.  Your choice."

Menera Loryss was, in Fyrenn's eyes, either very stupid, or very arrogant and canny, because rather than the appropriate expression of subservient terror, she wore an insulted, angered look that meant she either knew nothing of how vengeful Gryphons could be.  

Or that she knew that she still held a metaphorical axe over Fyrenn's head in the form of April's life and future.

She stood, and partook in a gesture that could only be described as a flounce. 

"I must say Fyrenn...  The rumors are true.  You do not know how to pick your battles.  Or your words.  My man will be back in an hour to collect 13579-A..."

Loryss' next words were choked to a squeak as Fyrenn's right claw closed firmly around her throat, drawing tiny rivulets of blood as he slammed one of the most powerful women on the planet into the wall in a, perhaps ill advised, moment of wrath.

"She has a NAME!" 

The tenor, and volume, of the word shook the air.

"I have warned you once, and I will do you the uncommon courtesy of warning you one last time.  If you, he, or anyone like him, steps foot back in here..." 

Fyrenn cast a backward glance at the agent, who now had his firearm trained at the Gryphon's head, "Or if he tries to discharge that weapon right now?  I'll decorate you, the wall, the table, and the floor with his guts.  And then?  Yours."

Fyrenn dropped Loryss, who's face had taken on the blue pallor of near-suffocation.  The Gryphon spat a single phrase, his words as calm and blunt as Varan's customary tone.

"Get. Out."

The agent holstered his weapon and scrambled to help the wheezing Councilor out the door.

Once he was absolutely sure they were gone, Fyrenn collapsed into a chair.  He knew no one was watching, so he allowed the tears of rage and fear to stream down his face.

Hours of pent-up emotions left over from the previous day spilled forth like a flood.

For all his bravado, and for the fact that he was fully capable of carrying out his threat, he knew that it was an extreme risk on many levels.  Success was not guaranteed.  Collateral damage almost certainly was.

And yet he knew he was willing to do it, if he had to.  

That was not so much the central issue, as the fear that it, or any other action, wouldn't be enough.

He had already failed to save one life.

The thought brought an unwelcome flash of memory so vivid, that it took him a full minute to realize he had shattered the thin granite table top with a fisted claw in a convulsion of pain.

April had already suffered more than any being should have to bear, as far as he was concerned.  All at the hands of the people he'd spent the majority of his life answering to.  Sacrificing for.  Serving.

The red Gryphon stared out the window, tears distorting his otherwise perfect view of the Manhattan skyline.  He muttered aloud, "I'll get you out of this.  For you, for me..." His voice broke, and he was thankful there was no one there to hear it, "...And for her.  Especially for her."





"I'm only going to ask once, and I want a straight answer.  What.  The Hell.  Did you *do?!*"

Fyrenn glanced up from his evening meal, then down at April, who was ravenously working her way through a plate from her position in the chair to his immediate right.  He stood, offered her a reassuring smile, then stepped far enough to the side to prevent her hearing his conversation over the din of the evening meal rush.

"Commander, please...  The less you know the better.  I don't want you to get caught in the middle of the firestorm that's coming."

Aston folded her arms, and shook her head.

"Dammit Fyrenn.  You are the single most problematic officer I've ever had to deal with, and I can't decide if that's why you're so effective, or if it's just a trait you hang onto so you can torment people like me."

The red Gryphon shrugged, and sighed.

"Ma'am, I am genuinely trying to keep you out of this, because I respect you as a friend, and a superior officer.  Nothing, and I mean nothing, is going to stand between me, and protecting that girl.  Because of the nature of this mess, that means I'm going to have to do things that won't just rock the boat...  They'll blow it to tiny slivers."

The Commander shook her head again, more vehemently.

"You have a duty as an officer---"

Fyrenn held up a claw, keeping his voice calm.

"Yes.  I did.  But I have a greater duty.  A moral duty."

Aston repeated the vehemence of her gesture, switching to an affirmative nod.

"Yes! Exactly!  Fyrenn!  The stuff you're poking your beak into?!  The measures you're talking about taking?  They could have ramifications for thousands, million, or even billions of people down the line.  You are inserting yourself into a charged interplanetary political situation, that *none* of us fully understand."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes as he responded slowly.

"Are you insinuating that I should trade that innocent little child's life for the greater political good?  A political 'good' that can sleep with itself at night after ordering child experimentation?  Because I don't think you are that sort of person."

Aston shook her head once more and held up both hands.

"No, no, no...  Absolutely *not.*  I am suggesting that you can find some way to handle this that doesn't involve coming to blows with a *government official* Fyrenn.  You.  Assaulted.  A Councilor.  You're lucky to be alive right now."

The red Gryphon snorted and rolled his eyes.

"Your hyperbole as to my luck notwithstanding...  She is the lucky one.  But she will be neither lucky, nor alive, if she keeps pressing me.  She oversees the systematic abduction, mutilation, torture, and murder of *children.*"

Aston threw up her hands, and swore under her breath.

"Fyrenn!  You can't keep going down this road.  I'm not asking you to abandon April.  I'm not asking you to stop kicking over rocks to unearth this...  'Mess.'  I'm not even asking you to trust any of these people, least of all that absolutely vile, despicable woman...  But I am *begging* you to balance the needs of others against April's *wisely.*"

The commander lowered her voice further, and shook her head once again.

"It is one thing to kill soldiers on a battlefield.  It is another thing to threaten to assassinate an Earthgov *Councilor.*  Do you understand me?"

Fyrenn glanced between April, and Aston, and sighed.

"You are right Commander, and I do understand.  But believe me when I say that won't stop me, if it comes down to it.  You want to help balance the needs of the masses against the needs of that little girl?  Then please find a way to stall for her while this is broiling.  If we can move forward without extreme measures, I will do so..."

As he stepped back towards the table, he glanced over his shoulder, keeping his parting words loud enough for Aston to hear over the din.

"Otherwise?  I will have no choice but to wade into this and finish it my way.  If that happens... Don't be standing anywhere near ground zero.  They'll need people of your caliber, and patience, to help pick up the pieces."
> Chapter 43
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 29th, Gregorian Calendar

Minos rose from behind his desk, and placed his hands firmly on the battered undecorated steel surface.

"I take it things didn't go as planned ma'am?"

Councilor Loryss marched stiffly to the nearest chair, and flounced into it forcibly.

"These species we have so foolishly invited onto our world are...  Difficult.  It is clear to me that the one you encountered is no longer in any way under the control of his superior officers."

Minos shrugged, and sat back into his chair.

"So you want me to have him eliminated?"

Loryss shook her head, and grunted.

"Too difficult.  Especially for someone with your lesser qualifications.  He's already made a fool of you once.  No.  Without the girl he has nothing.  Stop wasting time.  We focus on the objective;  Remove the asset from play, eliminate evidence, and cut any possible ties that provide means of garnering further future evidence."

Minos ran a hand through his hair, and tilted his head.

"How?"

The Councilor pursed her lips, and fixed her gaze on the man.

"The Gryphon is cut off from most of his usual military resources.  The Bureau's ConSec staff will fall in line if they see the right authorization papers.  A small detachment of men flown in in by official diplomatic-tagged transport.  In and out in less than ten minutes.  We have eyes inside the structure, so we can time it based on his routine, when the asset is at her least defended."

Minos nodded slowly, and smiled.

"They aren't expecting something this brazen, and he couldn't cope even if he was.  He lacks the connections now.  When?"

Loryss inclined her head, and smiled slightly.

"Tomorrow."





The Equestrian sky was cloudless.  As a result, in spite of the fact that most of Manhattan's infrastructural lights had been turned off, the scene was bathed in bright luminescence.

The comforting, soft blue gleam of the lunar illumination mixed well with the torchlight.  It cast the Green-Wood Cemetery in an almost comforting, natural tone.

The coffin itself was empty.  Fyrenn didn't even like the idea of burying an empty casing.  Gryphon death ceremonies involved burning a pyre, whether the body was present or not.  The gesture was meant to appeal to April's ingrained Human conceptions.

Inasmuch as he knew the moment would be incredibly painful in its own ways, he also knew from vivid past experience that it was a vital part of catharsis and healing.  Processes April could not afford to defer.  Processes no one could afford to defer, if they were honest with themselves.

Fyrenn, Neyla, Kephic, and Varan each gripped one corner of the military-issue gray capsule that represented Sonya's absent Earthly remains.  An Gryphon Kingdom flag, simple clean and new, was draped over the casing.

Each Gryphon held a torch in their free claw.  Each lugged an Enfield rifle slung to their back.  Kephic had withdrawn the replicas from the special tasks division of the armory.  They were used almost exclusively for honor-guards, having no real tactical value in the modern age.

Behind them Carradan and Skye brought up the rear, shepherding April between them.  To her credit, Fyrenn had not seen her devolve into uncontrolled weeping a single time since the previous night.

Tears had been shed on and off.  Fyrenn knew she was weeping softly even as they climbed the long path to the spot on the hill he had scouted out only hours before.  But April was cogent.  And that meant she was, on some level, starting the coping process.

After what seemed like an eternity, the group's solemn march came to an end.  The four Gryphons silently lowered the empty coffin into the space Fyrenn and Varan had hollowed out, then slammed their torches into the ground, and stood back.

Fyrenn glanced briefly out from the hill at the skyline of the city.  Most of the buildings were darkened, and the majority of the artificial lighting was clustered around the Bureau, a few high-wealth housing towers, the port, airfields, and the train terminals.

The rest were black silhouettes against a starry eastern Equestrian sky.  If Fyrenn unfocused his eyes, he could almost pretend the hulking shapes were distant mountains.

He waited for a respectful moment of silence to pass, then pulled the rifle from his shoulder.  The weapon felt unusually small to him, having been designed originally for Human hands.

There was no need for him to utter the traditional military commands to accompany the three-volley salute.  The other Gryphons were fully capable of following his motions with millimeter-fine precision and split-second timing.

The quartet raised the rifles, cycled the bolts, and fired.  The process was repeated again.  And again, a final time.

The last echoes of the shots lingered for nearly half a minute as they rebounded off the gravestones, obelisks, and larger tomb structures below.

Neyla pulled another object from the straps between her wings, and jammed it haft-first into the ground above the coffin, where the tombstone would have gone.  She pulled a red ribbon from a small pouch, and deftly tied it off on the cross-guard of the javelin.

Silence reigned.  It stretched out into a long minute.  Then another.

Fyrenn nearly jumped several feet when it was abruptly broken by a sound that seemed to electrify every nerve in his body.  It took him several long moments to realize that it was Neyla's voice, broken out into song.

The notes were clear, cold, and piercing; Like new fallen snow under a starlit sky.  And they were intimately familiar.  Fyrenn quickly realized she must have discovered the song somewhere on his music player.  An old spiritual, melancholy yet hopeful.

Fyrenn only discovered he had opened his beak and joined in several moments after he had already done so.

As his voice mixed with Neyla's in nearly-perfect harmony through the chorus, he watched April grip Skye, and Carradan tightly to her, as though they were oversized childhood stuffed toys.

As the second verse began, the four Gryphons clustered around April as well, forming a protective circle of wings.

The girl's tears flowed freely, but Fyrenn was glad to see them.  They mirrored his own.  

And they were a sign that she was saying goodbye, in her own way.





"You're sure?"

April nodded meekly, and lay back, letting the pillows engulf her head like a cloud.  Fyrenn knelt beside the bed, and gestured to the window first, then the door.

"The window tint is controlled by that little blue touchbar on the dresser surface.  My room is the next down on the right.  You wake me if you need me.  Ok?"

April once again nodded silently.  Fyrenn prepared to rise, and leave, but something in her expression stopped him short.  He spent a long moment debating with himself, before he finally gave in to his instinctive response.

He leaned over, and pulled April into a neck-hug, burying her face in the feathers just behind his left cheek.

As he pulled away, April's voice once again brought him up short.

"You know, Neyla has a beautiful voice."

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded slightly.

"I haven't heard her sing all that often.  She's very talented."

April sighed, and pulled the covers close.

"Sonya used to sing me to sleep sometimes.  When I couldn't stop thinking, and thinking, and worrying..."

Fyrenn sighed, and shrugged his wings, but sat back on his haunches nonetheless.

"Well... I am not all that much of a singer..."

He watched as April's face fell slightly, and immediately held up a conciliatory claw.

"But for you.  I'll do my best."

April smiled, and closed her eyes, snuggling down into the sumptuous self-sculpting mattress in anticipation.

Fyrenn inhaled slowly, and made his best effort, selecting something he knew would resonate.

"In my wrestling, and in my doubts... In my failures, you won't walk out..."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 30th, Gregorian Calendar

"Surface Contact!  Bearing Zero-Seven-Five degrees relative.  Range;  Nine hundred meters.  LADAR signature returns positive, but no EM signatures and minimal thermal output.  Object is stationary."

The Retribution's captain nodded, and leaned forward to grip the command podium railing.

"That's our chitinous friends.  Early as usual.  Rig ship for EMCON One silent operations.  Prepare to surface.  Ready cargo hatches amidships, and get the loading crews to stations."

With a pervasive thrum and a hiss, accompanied by a soft klaxon, water was expelled forcibly from the ship's ballast tanks.  As the crew worked diligently at their assigned consoles, Retribution rose gracefully to meet the surface.

The submarine arrived gently, with no fanfare or dramatic spray of water.  The Captain had no desire to alert any nearby patrol Frigates with an unusually large displacement wave.

As the boat settled, he gestured towards the central portion of his console bank.

"Give me composite periscope feed here.  Open the starboard cargo hatches and activate the signal lights.  Standby for---"

The LADAR officer interjected loudly, a note of concern creeping into his voice as he barked out a report.  The tension was compounded by the fact that an automatic proximity alarm began to sound insistently as he spoke.

"New contact!  Bearing One-Nine-Seven degrees relative!  Contact in motion.  Designating Track Zero-One-Six, Range Eight hundred meters, Speed seventeen Knots over-surface!"

Before the Captain could even turn to face the officer, much less demand a more thorough report, an officer on the other side of the compartment began shouting, doing his best to make himself heard over another, much louder alarm.

"INCOMING ORDINANCE!!  Brace! Brace!"

The Captain barely had time to grip the nearest railing, before the boat shook vigorously amidst the deafening roar of a dozen outer-hull impacts.  The moment the noise, and the sway, had died down to a manageable level, he straightened himself into a vaguely upright position and began shouting.

"REPORT!"

A voice filtered back from his left side.

"Contacts moving onto flanking tracks!  Multiple high-frequency EM signatures accompanied by inbound projectiles!"

An officer to the rear of the bridge spoke up as soon as there was room in the conversation.

"Damage control reports significant ablation in five locations on the outer hull!"

As the officer spoke, a series of images finally resolved themselves on the central display screens.  To the fore, and aft, familiar jet-black shapes loomed.

Changeling Outriggers were ugly, and menacing, but stunningly fast for a sailing vessel.  Fashioned from thin but tough wafers of highly polished igneous rock, and driven by green membranous sails, they were a familiar sight to Retribution's crew.

Decidedly more concerning, and less familiar, were the green flashes emanating from the sides of the vessels.  The light sources seemed to produce a faint green smoke trail every time they winked into existence.  A few moments later a sharp black object would bury itself in Retribution's outer hull, and detonate.

The Captain's face hardened, and he renewed a white-knuckled grip on his podium railing.

"It's an ambush.  Little insectoid fuckers are armed with exploding shells."

He raised one hand and pointed, bringing up the volume of his orders to ensure they would be heard over the roar of incoming rounds.

"Break EMCON Status and bring the boat up to full combat condition!  Spin up all missile tubes and deploy forward gun!  Load torpedo bays one and two!  Move us ahead flank speed!"

The executive officer began to parrot the orders into the intercom, as the lighting on the bridge descended into the dull orange-red of combat alert.

"General quarters.  General quarters.  All hands to combat stations.  Secure cargo doors port and starboard, damage control to forward bulkheads."

Simultaneously, the weapons officer spoke forcefully into his headset, communicating directly with the torpedo room, and fire control officers.

"Torpedo room: Load tubes one and two, set warheads for hull-piercing configuration.  Fire Control: Deploy forward railgun and acquire target, track two-seven-eight.  Spin up all missile tubes, short range configuration, alight a second volley and place into the reload pool.  Divide bays between hostile contacts in a staggered launch pattern.  Kill tracks two-seven-eight and one-four-nine!"

The submarine bucked, groaned, and shuddered as the recoil from her weapons, the impact of the enemy shells, and the stress of acceleration, combined to test her frame to it's upper operating limits.

Fiery streaks shot forth from the Retribution's forward railgun, tearing huge chunks out of the nearest Outrigger.  Chips of basalt sprayed in all directions, piercing the hull, the sails, and several members of the crew, mixing the black fragments of their chitin into the swirl of debris.

Before either of the Outriggers could prepare its next gun volley, dozens of sleek gray warheads blossomed forth from Retribution's VLS racks.  Rising on white and orange plumes of propellant, the missiles arced up and outwards in writhing, spiraling, graceful patterns designed to deceive countermeasure systems and defy prediction.

Though the Changelings' exploding shot had been moderately successful, their renaissance-age propulsion and armor were hopelessly outmatched.  And they had no warhead countermeasures to speak of.

In a pair of eruptions so well timed, that they seemed simultaneous to the Human eye, the Outriggers simply ceased to exist, as each became the convergence point for dozens of fully loaded anti-ship cruise missiles.

In their place, swirling miasmas of hot gasses, basalt slivers, chitin dust, and scorched fabric billowed outwards, propelled on the shock-front of two deafening explosions.

As the dust settled, the Captain of the Retribution fixed his gaze on the LADAR screen, speaking to his officers without making eye contact.

"Prepare to return to EMCON One.  Rig ship for silent running and prepare to dive.  Have damage control prioritize structural shoring actions.  LADAR: I want eyes-out until we go under.  The nearest Navy patrols can't have missed that, even if they were drunk off their collective bums."

The man sat back into his chair, and buried his face in his palms.

"XO?  Get me a microburst set up.  This is going to raise more than a few eyebrows in the Cabinet."





"FYRENN!!"

The Gryphon stiffened, his brain and body flooding with adrenaline and other combat-related chemicals.  Something about the familiarity of Skye's voice, mixed together with the obvious panic in her volume and tone, touched off an instinctive 'fight' response.

He turned just in time to see the Unicorn barrel around the corridor's curvature at full gallop.

Fyrenn extended his foreclaws, and helped her come to an unceremonious stop.  Skye was panting like a blast furnace, and dripping both sweat, and tears.

The red Gryphon fixed her with his best firm, calming gaze, and made a herculean effort to keep his voice on an even keel.

"Short, concise sentences.  What happened?"

Skye wriggled away from the Gryphon's comforting hold, and jerked her head over her shoulder towards the atrium, her eyes practically rolling into the back of her head.

"She got up from the table to get a second helping!  And then she was GONE!  Fyrenn, they took her!  I couldn't even get out of my chair, and they had her!  They were already there, they were in the room!  They---"

Fyrenn wasted no time asking pointless questions.  He brushed past Skye like a summer zephyr, panic and fury lending his muscles a tremendous energy boost.  Before he had even reached the end of the corridor, he was moving at a flat-out dash any gazelle would have envied.

He burst into the atrium of the Bureau, sparing no thought whatsoever for anyone in his path.  The astute beings got out of his way.  Those that didn't found themselves thrown aside like snow in front of a rocket-propelled plow.

He slowed his pace to a lope, as he spied Carradan just beyond the front doors of the building.  The Pegasus was locked in a heated argument with a man in official, albeit ill-fitting ConSec armor.  His shoulder markings identified him as a Colonel, and his demeanor identified him as something other than ConSec.

The pair were flanked by two genuine ConSec guards wearing Corpsman's bars.

Fyrenn pulled himself up short as he passed through the building's sliding doors.  Behind Carradan and the Colonel, a pair of light VTOLs sat idling on the street at the end of the Bureau's steps.

Several sounds reached Fyrenn's ears simultaneously.  The first was the whine of the VTOLs' engines spooling up in preparation for takeoff.  The second was the tail end of Carradan's exchange with the Colonel.

"---And I'm telling you buster!  You get out of my way, or I'll cave your ribs like meat in a grinder!"

The final, and most important sound to reach Fyrenn's perked ears, was the distinctive sound of April, screaming incoherently for help.  The red Gryphon refocused his eyes, and caught side of the girl being forced into a restraint clamp in the rear of the nearest VTOL.

In the time it took for his brain to finish firing the appropriate neurons, Fyrenn's rage escalated to a paralyzing haze, then onwards into a painfully sharp clarity and simplicity.  Everything but his objective, the steps necessary to accomplish it, and the emotions driving him to do so, fell away into nothingness.

With a graceful, silent motion, so fast that it wouldn't even register to a Human eye, Fyrenn rose to his hind legs, extended all four talons on his right claw, and jammed them into the weakest point of the Colonel's neck cowl at perpendicular angles.

The gesture pierced the light, flexible kevlar easily, severing the infiltrator's trachea and carotid artery in one precise instance of well-placed force.

To the ConSec guards, it looked as if four gushing spouts of blood had just blinked into existence on the officer's neck.  It took even Carradan's Pegasus eyes and brain nearly a ten-thousandth of a second to register the event.  It took the Human men a full four seconds to reach the same realization.

As the Corpsmen tried to work out what they had just seen, Fyrenn extended a claw to the nearest, speaking in an unmistakably dangerous flat monotone.

"Sidearm."

He glanced up at the VTOLs, noting that they were preparing to rise into the air, as the whine of their props reached a fever pitch.

The red Gryphon once again fixed the officer with his gaze, hardened his eyes into a predatory glower.

"Now!"

Foolishly, running on adrenaline, emotion, and fear, the soldier drew his rail pistol, and trained it on Fyrenn.  His voice was shaky, but his hands remained steady.

"Sir!  I have to ask you to please step back and place your claws behind your head!"

Fyrenn felt no direct animosity towards the man.  But that did nothing to dampen the speed, nor ferocity of his reaction.  He reached out casually, and plucked the weapon from the soldier's hands with one claw, while gripping the man's shoulder and ripping sideways with the other.

With a loud pop, the soldier's arm broke and fractured, in five places, dislocating the shoulder joint in the process.  As he fell to the pavement screaming in pain, Fyrenn caught his helmet, separating it relatively gently from his head to avoid causing fatal injury.

He hefted the object slightly until it was on a perpendicular axis to the second soldier's chest, then punched it with all his might.  The gear slammed into the soldier's chest with enough force to lay him out flat on the ground, ribs and lungs thoroughly bruised, head concussed.

Fyrenn reached out with his free claw, and severed the light bandages holding his injured wing to his side.  With no regard for the potential pain, he snapped open both appendages, and beat them down hard enough to propel him twenty feet into the air in a single instant.

Though he knew he should be feeling at least an ache from his right wing, there was no sensation of pain whatsoever.  His body and mind were so far beyond pain, that not even a bullet to the heart would have made an appreciable difference to his furor.

The Gryphon rose just above the VTOLs, training the rail-pistol on the nearest door-gunner.  He emptied the entire clip mercilessly as he tucked his wings, and dropped into a shallow stoop.

The door-gunner's head vanished like a watermelon in front of a canon.  The man had unwisely chosen to eschew his helmet, though it would have hardly helped.

Before any of the other occupants of the craft could process their assailant's arrival, Fyrenn slammed into them at full speed.  The talons of his right claw shredded the nearest soldier, while the pistol in his left hit a stray helmet, shattering it and killing the woman inside instantly.

He yanked the bloodied and mangled titanium casing away, and used it to viciously bludgeon two of the remaining soldiers into unconsciousness.  The last of the combatants he simply batted with one wing, sending the man sailing out through the open door, into a lethal twenty story drop.

Fyrenn spared a moment to snag a hold on April's restraints, ripping them from the wall bracket as if they were made of nothing more substantial than aluminum foil.  As he pulled the handcuffed child close under one wing, the Pilot and Co-Pilot finally managed to ready their weapons.

Fyrenn held April close with one foreleg, and stretched out the other, forming a fisted claw.  With a piercing war-cry, half lion's roar and half eagle's screech, Fyrenn launched himself forward and into the cockpit.

He flared his wings as he passed fully through the cabin partition, forcing the heads of both pilot and co-pilot to snap to the side at fatally unnatural angles.  His fisted claw made short work of the light plexiglass windscreen, turning it into a hail of tiny glass slivers that his feathers and fur easily deflected as he passed through the rainbow shower at nearly seventy miles an hour.

He turned, tucking his wings and dipping into an evasive spiral as he searched for the second VTOL, but he soon realized he was in no danger.  The second craft, seeing what had befallen their comrades, had poured on the throttle and left them for dead.  The vehicle was already halfway to midtown.

Even at that distance, due to the straight line of sight, Fyrenn could make out faces.  He made a point of memorizing each and every one as he flattened out his flight trajectory, and circled back towards the Bureau.

The red Gryphon alighted at the top of the steps, not five feet from Carradan, just as Skye, Neyla, Kephic, and Varan arrived.

He set April down gently, and began to work at cutting away her bonds.  Behind him, without the input of a pilot, and under the stress of the damage he had done to the cabin, the second VTOL plummeted to the empty street in a lazy spiral.

As the last of April's bonds came loose, and she buried herself in the comfort of Fyrenn's neck, the vehicle slammed into the ground.  The cabin broke apart into a half dozen pieces, killing any occupants Fyrenn had previously left alive.  

One engine simply turned to dust as the swiftly-spinning rotors shattered against the pavement, and sent debris backwards into the intakes.  The second abruptly caught fire, and succumbed to a series of small fuel cell detonations.

Fyrenn felt no need to turn and survey the carnage.  His single concern was April.  Nothing else mattered.  Not even the bloodied, screaming ConSec soldiers he had brutalized without a second thought.

As April did her best to get her heavy breathing under control, the soft rumble of the burning VTOL was punctuated by a loud whistle.

Carradan shook his head slowly, and sighed, his tone nearly as deadpan as Varan's customary vocalizations.

"Well.  That escalated quickly."





"What were you THINKING?!  You brought down a VTOL, you *killed* soldiers wearing official INSIGNIA!  You sent two of our own INNOCENT people to the medbay with SERIOUS injuries!!"

To his credit, Fyrenn sat quietly, and impassively through the tirade.  His relief, and his respect for Aston, provided a surprisingly good barrier against the desire to respond in a tone that would have shaken the foundations of the building.  Hutch reached out and placed a firm hand on Aston's arm.  

"Laura.  Let me deal with this.  Please."

For a long moment, the pair locked eyes, sending and receiving non-verbal messages as they argued their point.  At last, Aston relaxed slightly, and nodded.

She shot Fyrenn an angry, disappointed glare as she stormed out of the office.  As the doors hissed shut behind her, Hutch sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut against the pain of a raging headache.

"Fyrenn...  I understand.  I do.  For the most part anyhow.  I'm not going to fault you for what you did to the crew of that helo.  So far, all the bodies match the same criteria as our other attackers.  Military reserve, no valid credentials or records for the equipment withdrawal, or mission orders..."

Hutch sat back, and sighed again, swiveling his chair so he could glance out his window at the gaggle of emergency vehicles swarming over the wreckage of the VTOL in the evening light.

The Gryphon did his best to relax his own emotions.  From the moment he had clutched a hyperventilating April to his chest, he had been struggling to flush away the cold, sharp, clear, driving sense of rage that seemed to have taken up residence permanently in his chest and his head.  So far he had made pitiful progress.

As Hutch continued speaking, Fyrenn detected no hint of anger in his voice, though there was a twinge of frustration and resignation.

"Other people are going to start asking questions though.  You're digging yourself a very, very deep hole here.  I may not fault you for what you did, but others will.  They were still Earthgov soldiers, and citizens.  And to top that off, you sent two completely innocent men into surgery.  One had to be sedated for nine hours because you put him in so much pain, and the other was within five minutes of dying.  You cracked his skull in eight places and his brain began to hemorrhage.  He may never be combat-fit again.  I want to know why."

Fyrenn shrugged his wings, and sighed, maintaining an even and calm tone.  He had known Hutch long enough to understand where the General was coming from, and he felt the man deserved a full explanation.

"There wasn't time for me to discuss the particulars of my plan with them.  One of them drew a weapon on me, the other one was about to.  I'm aware that, from their perspective, they had every reason to...  But I judged April's life to be worth more than the temporary pain I'd inflict.  They should have known better than to train a live weapon on a Gryphon.  They should be grateful to be alive at all."

Hutch nodded slowly, "That's true in some sense.  The incident is partially their fault.  We do train all ConSec and JRSF staff and troops to never provoke friendly Non-Humans.  And we warn them about the risks.  But you're also at fault.  You're telling me that you couldn't come up with a less brutal way to defuse that moment?"

Fyrenn shook his head slowly as he spoke.

"Less brutal yes, but fighting down my instincts to make it possible...?  That would have wasted time.  And it would have done nothing to deter future incidents.  I guarantee you no soldier with any brains on your staff, at least, will ever point a loaded weapon at one of us again.  Not after seeing this."

The General winced, and nodded.

"That's certainly true.  But I have to ask you...  Not as an officer, but as a friend...  Please try to go *lightly* on these men and women.  They are not your enemy, at the end of the day, and I don't want to have to knock on some poor innocent family's door this week and tell them their kid died on a home-front posting, at the claws of an allied soldier.  You *were* one of them once.  Don't forget it.  No matter what their superiors might do to persuade you otherwise."

Fyrenn tilted his head, and narrowed his eyes.  His ears flattened reflexively, and his tail began to swish.

"Are you sure they're not my enemy?  Because according to Skye's account, which the surveillance feed corroborates, these men walked right past the duty officer, and into the cafeteria, and no one noticed them, challenged them, or checked their paperwork."

Hutch opened his mouth to reply, but Fyrenn sharpened his glare, and quickened the pace of his words.

"Not to mention the fact that both April and Skye screamed repeatedly for help, and no one responded.  Your 'poor little kids' stood impassively while armored faceless men dragged a little girl screaming out of this building in handcuffs, just because of the emblems on their uniforms.  Not one of them challenged these men.  Something even Carradan thought to do, and had the moxie for to boot.  So you'll forgive me if I'm not endeared to them.  I was one of them.  I had a lot of reasons for choosing *not* to be anymore.  Now I have even more."

Hutch sighed, and nodded slowly.

"You're not entirely wrong.  Or right.  Either way, I'm still asking for this favor, as your friend."

Fyrenn returned the nod, and allowed his gaze to soften slightly.

"I'm not refusing categorically sir.  But I can not, and will not, adhere to this request at the expense of April's life, or mine for that matter.  Protecting her, and protecting anyone else in my family who comes under fire, is my first priority.  Everything, and *everyone* else is secondary in the end."

The General leaned forward, and inhaled deeply.

"I understand.  Which is why I have to ask you to at least try to come up with another solution.  We can't keep going down this road, and you know it.  Today it's a few low level thugs, tomorrow?  You're ripping this mess up by the roots without due process, or thought to how it's going to impact the political situation..."

Fyrenn snorted, and rolled his eyes, rising from his haunches and beginning a slow pace between the two far walls of the room, his voice rising to fever pitch as the words spilled forth.

"Forgive my unusual vulgarity, but fuck the political situation.  Fuck Earthgov, fuck the council, and fuck centcom with a rusty railroad spike.  These morons couldn't even stop the HLF from launching a weapon of truly unethical proportions, which they themselves created, and hid from everyone, down on us.  What were all my years of black-book ops even for?  Why did they have me out there performing unsanctioned hits on our own citizens, in the dead of night, shutting down terror cells, if all I was doing was pruning the ones that wouldn't co-operate?  Is that who we are now?  Do we fund these bastards when their goals align with ours?  Is that all that separated me from the HLF?  A badge, and a redacted sealed order signed by a Councilor?"

The red Gryphon shook his head and snorted as he spun down his tirade.

"Impact the political situation?  Listen to yourself.  You sound like Aston."

Hutch nodded vigorously.

"Yes.  I do sound like Aston.  Because she may be letting her emotions get to her as well, but she's also right.  More so than you.  You are throwing matches at a powder keg.  If it goes off, a lot of other people will feel the effects one day.  This goes beyond you and this little girl, as much as I hate to admit it."

The red Gryphon inclined his head, responding in a fairly calm tone that did a passable job of covering his inner rage at the circumstances.

"I don't disagree with that assertion General.  But please try to understand how I see this.  Through a Gryphon's eyes.  When you say it goes beyond myself and April, and I agree, I'm thinking about the nameless scores of others who are a part of this child-experimentation program.  I'm thinking about future innocents who will come under the guns of these lunatics, who have the ethical abandon to torture children, and the tacit support of our own government.  I'm thinking about the internal damage being done by subversive elements inside that government.  The things they have consciened.  Will conscien."

Fyrenn paused, and narrowed his eyes once more, directing his gaze out the window.

"And I'm thinking that it all has to end somehow.  Sooner rather than later.  Because maybe a political catastrophe will kill and hurt fewer people than these assholes are killing every day with their political situation."

Hutch shook his head slowly, and threw up his hands.

"And you have to see a middle ground, if you want the best possible outcome for future Humans.  I won't object to the idea that we have to do something, very soon, about these other children.  And I certainly don't object to the idea that you need to protect April until this is over.  But if possible, we need to find a way to do that which doesn't involve you disassembling a quarter of Earthgov in a shower of blood, on live holovision, for the world to see."

Fyrenn dipped his head once more as he offered up his thoughts.

"There is an obvious solution.  Or at least, the start of one.  We give her Potion.  She has expressed a desire for Conversion, and it would allow us to put her firmly out of reach, where these people can't follow."

Hutch began shaking his head slowly, exhaling a long, frustrated breath before responding.

"That's not within my authority sphere to grant.  Because she's a minor according to the ACACIA law, we are prohibited from administering Potion without the express consent of all appropriate legal guardians.  Good luck getting that from Councilor Loryss."

Fyrenn threw up his claws, and grunted.

"What about legal precedent for an override?  This is Bureau land, so laws work differently here."

Hutch nodded once, but his expression fell, along with his tone.

"Normally, you'd be right.  That would be a valid precedent for almost any other situation.  But ACACIA is not just a law Earth passed, it's also a Conversion Accords Amendment.  The Bureau, and all accord races, are legally bound by the law, and the law says no Conversion, without guardian consent, before age eighteen."

The red Gryphon rose, his gaze hardened once more, along with his tone.

"Then, sir, there's nothing else you can do here.  Your best bet is to distance yourself from me, and my actions.  Please... Discharge me if you have to.  Refer me to court martial.  Order your forces to pursue me...  Whatever you have to do to stay clear of suspicion, or negative repercussions."

As Fyrenn passed through the door, Hutch leaned forward, squinting in concern.

"No promises.  But What about you?  All hell is going to break loose if you keep this up."

Fyrenn smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Oh I'm sure.  These people haven't even begun to see hell.  Keep watching though, and you'll get some idea.  We're past the point of politics.  This is unbounded warfare.  Nothing is off limits now."





Fyrenn tensed as a slight triple rap came from the vicinity of his door.  He paused, inhaled deeply, and forced himself to relax as he realized the soft sound could have only one logical source.

He reached out with a claw and thumbed the nearest control pad situated on the dresser.  The door hissed open to reveal April, head hanging down, shuffling one foot slightly.

Fyrenn smiled, and beckoned.

"Come on in.  You didn't wake me."

April's face brightened like a small star, and she shuffled in, towing her blanket and a pillow in one fist behind her.

"I'm sorry.  I just couldn't keep my eyes shut.  Not after today.  It was too quiet, and too dark.  I thought I saw a shadow move.  And then I started to hear noises."

Fyrenn rose and moved towards the child, scooping her up in his forelegs, and depositing her on his bed amongst the cushions.

"That's a natural reaction of the brain after what you went through.  That which we can't see conjures up that which we imagine to be there, which is always worse than what's actually there."

April glanced up into Fyrenn's eyes as he wrapped her blanket snugly around her, and gently beat her pillow between his claws to fluff it.

"But that never happens to you?"

Fyrenn inclined his head slightly.

"Not often.  Sometimes I still have...  Bad dreams.  But I'm not really afraid of the dark anymore.  I can see into it as clearly as if it were day.  I'm not worried by silence, because I don't ever experience total silence.  I can always hear the soft sounds of life around me."

He smiled as he tucked the pillow behind April's head, and gently brushed a lock of her hair away from her face.

"It helps that I have lots of built-in ways to kill things.  Yea though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil.  For I am the deadliest thing in the valley."

April giggled, and smiled, squirming her way down into the nest of pillows.

"So you're never afraid of anything?"

Fyrenn's face fell, and he shook his head.

"No, I wouldn't say that.  Everyone and everything has fear.  But I'm no longer afraid of things of which I don't have to be.  And when I am afraid, I have faith, and courage.  That's my nature now."

April nodded, and yawned.

"I wish..."  She paused for another yawn, and gently closed her eyes, finishing softly as she curled up.

"I wish it was in my nature too.  I wish I could be like you."

Fyrenn did his best to choke back a flood of emotions that he found difficult to fully classify.  He brushed April lightly with one wing, and moved to his desk, picking up his DaTab and dropping the screen brightness.

As he turned off the room's ambient lighting, and increased the air-conditioning setting, he realized he was facing a sleepless night.

He murmured to himself, too softly for April's human ears.

"Might as well set about ridding this valley of some of its other denizens..."
> Chapter 44
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 31st, Gregorian Calendar

"Well this is certainly an escalation."

Minos slammed the DaTab down onto his desk, and began shaking his head slowly.  Councilor Loryss sighed, and readjusted her position in her chair, pursing her lips at the physical display of frustration.

"You sent two aircraft full of your best troopers.  Only one returned.  Empty-handed, I might add.  And all because of one Gryphon with a single pistol.  No spare rounds.  No armor.  No fire support.  'Escalation' is a crude term, and a gross understatement."

Minos shrugged, and threw up his hands.

"What exactly would you have me do?  If he keeps at this with this kind of ferocity, he's going to blow the lid on the entire operation.  Our little 'Twelfth Echelon' will be the only thing on the evening news for the next eight months running."

The man sighed, and leaned forward, folding his hands on the desk.

"Forgive me for saying it, 'ma'am,' but I disagree with your pattern of attack here.  You suggested that if we took the asset out the equation, the Gryphon would back down.  I think once we dispose of the girl, things will actually get even worse.  If he has nothing to lose, he will have even less restraint than we've seen so far."

Loryss crossed her legs gracefully, and stiffened, turning her head slightly up and to the side.

"Well.  If you think you have a better solution, then by all means Minos, share with the class."

Minos stood, leaning even further forward and lowering his voice to a conspiratorial hush.

"Take out the entire problem in one swift stroke.  We know they're shielding the asset with some sort of device, so lets stop beating around the bush.  Kill both the asset, and her Red Guardian.  Anyone else associated with them will come out of the woodwork within hours or days, and as soon as they're in the open?  We pick them off too.  One by one."

Loryss inclined her head, and made a slight 'hmph' noise.

"Proceed as you see fit.  But further loss of assets will result in reassignment to another tasking."





Moments after Fyrenn knocked his fisted claw twice against the surface, the door irised open to reveal Neyla's smiling visage.  The expression was midway between a slight welcoming smile, and a tiny hint of a smirk.

"Good morning you two.  Sleep well?"

April smiled widely, and nodded.  Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head, speaking quietly to the blue and tan Gryphoness as April ducked past Neyla and into her room.

"I spent my sleep cycle time on...  More pressing issues.  Which is why I'm here."

Neyla moved back into the center of her room, and nodded.

"Do tell."

As the Gryphoness began to carefully cinch on her armor and weapons for the day, Fyrenn took a brief moment to cast his eyes around the space.

He spied his old music player, jacked into the room's speaker system, lying on the dresser, together with a stack of his mother's cookbooks.  Against one wall was an armor rack, from which Neyla was extracting her JRSF-issue equipment.  Beside it was an ornate wooden case containing her Equestrian gear.

Fyrenn noted, with a knowing smile, that the Gryphoness opted to add her two short swords and hidden under-wing sheaths to her standard issue Earthgov combat gear.

Near the opposite wall sat a small steel rack filled with polished titanium javelins.  One of the vertical slots was, tellingly, empty.  Fyrenn realized that when Neyla had machined the Javelin for Sonya's headstone, she had created a complete set of prototypes.

He gestured with one claw to the rack.

"You mind if I take one of these?"

Neyla shrugged her wings slightly, and blinked.

"I don't mind.  They're manufacturing spares from a batch.  Are you planning to make a statement?"

Fyrenn nodded as he hefted one of the weapons, and checked the balance.  He set the weapon down, tip against the floor, and glanced over at April.  The child was happily, but reverently, examining pieces of Neyla's light leather armor.

"Yes.  Of a sort.  I want to leave a strong impression with today's work.  Which, as I said, is why I'm here in the first place."

The red Gryphon dipped his head towards April, then fixed his gaze on Neyla.

"I want to know if she can stay with you today.  I understand you have a lot of responsibilities, even with Aston and Hutch on-claw, but I have it on good authority that you're due a leave day.  Please take it."

Neyla paused, the cinch to her left leg protector gripped in one claw, and locked eyes with Fyrenn.  A moment of electrifying emotional exchange occurred, and Neyla nodded.

"For you, and for her?  Absolutely.  When do you think you'll be back?"

Fyrenn hefted the Javelin once more, and inclined his head.

"Late."

The red Gryphon paused as he crossed the distance towards April, and smiled back at Neyla.

"Thank you."

The Gryphoness returned the smile warmly, and nodded.

"You are most welcome."

Fyrenn reached down, and gently laid a claw on April's shoulder.

"Will you be alright spending the day with Neyla?"

April's face lit up, the same way it had when Fyrenn invited her in the previous night.

"Of course!  I would spend *every* day with you guys if I could."

Fyrenn once more found himself holding down a series of complex emotions, including empathy, melancholy, and a deep paternal instinct that seemed to have swiftly and silently taken root deep in his heart.

As Fyrenn stepped to the door, Neyla finished removing her Earthgov issue gear, and moved to sit beside April.

The Gryphoness gestured with one claw towards her leather armor, and crossbow.

"Would you like to see how it all works?"

April's smile rooted Fyrenn to the spot, as if someone had turned on an immense electromagnet, and fitted his paws with steel boots.

He watched as April began to help Neyla with the cinches to her wing-joint guards, babbling incessantly with questions about how the leather was tempered, and the way the wing itself bent.

All at once, a new feeling struck the red Gryphon.  His chest warmed as if a blast furnace had been ignited, and time seemed to slow to an almost complete stop.

Neyla sat, ears perked, tail swishing, and beak turned up in a radiant smile.  April stood under one wing, similarly beaming, both tiny hands grasping up at the strap to Neyla's wing-guard, face buried in her primary feathers.

April was on the verge of a sneeze, and Neyla, seeing what was about to happen, was on the cusp of a pure, joyous laugh.

The entire picture was framed by streamers of Equestrian sunlight pouring in through the east-facing window, dancing in motes of feather dust against the piercing blue sky beyond.

At last, Fyrenn identified the collection of emotions that was overpowering his entire existence.  Down at the center the moment was a brightly burning core of love.  Pure, unadulterated, and piercingly strong.

Wrapped around it was a complex layering of melancholy, longing, and even an impetus towards acceptance.

Internally, Fyrenn had to put it into words to completely make sense of it, and when he did, the force of it was so powerful, that he found himself falling.  To prevent himself from splaying out on the floor, he sat down hard on his haunches, as the realization hit him.

He wanted that moment to be defining.  For a split second, he saw Neyla and April not merely as friends, or loved ones to be protected.  But as a mate, and a daughter.

As quickly as it had arrived, the moment passed.  Like a wave breaking on a rocky shore, the emotions triggered a domino effect of other, more negative feelings.  Fears, concerns, and worries about the present, and the past, streamed in and overpowered everything.

Neyla let out her chuckle.  April succumbed to her sneeze.  The Gryphoness looked up and tilted her head in curiosity as the thud of Fyrenn's hard landing reached her ears.  The normal flow of time was restored as she spoke.

"Something wrong?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and offered a weak smile.

"No.  No.  Just...  Tired.  I shouldn't have skipped a night's rest like that."

He rose, doing his best to cloak his roiling emotions, and darted through the door, tossing a farewell over one shoulder.

"I'll see you both, later tonight."





"I want to know what the hell prompted this."

Mr. Churchill's voice carried a strong hint of anger, and even subdued panic, despite the encoding degradation resulting from the heavy encryption.

Mr. Utah sat back, and took a deep pull on his cigarette, letting his eyes wander around the safe-room as he frowned.

"I'm as surprised by this as you sir.  We knew that it was only a matter of time before our working relationship with the Changelings collapsed, but we expected to have more than enough warning to enable us to make the first, decisive move.  Have you briefed the others?"

"Not yet.  I wanted a full report from you first.  They were your pet project.  I want your full analysis."

Mr. Utah exhaled a puff of smoke, and leaned forward towards the console, and the jagged waveform displayed on it.

"In my opinion, someone is manipulating the situation for their own gains.  The species has always been paranoid and xenophobic to a fault.  We had to initially be introduced to them through a Diamond Dog intermediary.  It would only take something small to set them off.  If you're asking for a damage assessment?"

Mr. Utah sat back and inhaled another deep draught from his cigarette before continuing.

"Minimal.  Our infiltrators are becoming less effective with each passing week.  The Changelings can't strike our interests here in any significant manner.  We're already close to Phase-II on project Cerberus, so we're in no danger of losing our eyes, ears, and influence on the other side of the barrier."

"That's good news.  But I want something more.  The shock-factor of a surprise attack like this needs something else to offset it.  Not every cabinet member is as subdued as you and I."

Mr. Utah nodded, and smiled slightly.

"Tell them...  Tell them that we're making excellent progress with our new allies on this side.  Tell them we're close to an agreement, and that all of our simulation work so far is highly promising."

"Good.  How soon could we be ready for this operation?"

Mr. Utah sat back, and allowed his smile to widen.

"If all goes well?  A matter of days."





"Pitot tubes are clear.  Make sure you tie off that coolant port properly this time.  I'm not playing a game of chicken with the temperature redline this go-round, you hear me?  If we have to get out fast like last time, I don't want to be hobbled."

The pilot stepped around the side of his VTOL, and rapped on the left wing strut lightly with one fist.

Fyrenn waited for him to notice his presence, and make eye contact.  He carefully ensured that the man's face matched his memory of the escaping VTOL's occupants, before offering him a slight smile.

"You know, if you want to get more performance out of a compact turboprop, like those Textrons, you should keep the intake manifolds clear of large debris."

The man recognized Fyrenn immediately, and made a grab for his side-arm.  By the time his hand reached the holster, the red Gryphon was already holding the pistol, twirling it lazily around one talon.

Fyrenn raised the gun and placed two rounds efficiently into the co-pilot's right knee-cap before he could even process the words.  As the pilot turned to run, Fyrenn simply lashed out with one back paw, snapping the man's leg ninety degrees, in the wrong direction, against the joint.

"Let me give you an example of the sort of thing you need to look out for."

The red Gryphon rammed a fisted talon into the left side of the canopy, and reached carefully through the hole, towards the center control console.  With a few deft flicks, he spun up the vehicle's left turbine to full idle, filling the hangar with a piercing whine and a stiff breeze.

He paused, crossing his forelegs and surveying the chamber as the engine came fully alive.  The majority of the space was empty as a result of the city-wide evacuation.  Virtually all that remained were two crates of spare parts, a fuel truck, an external APU unit, and some maintenance carts.

"Pay attention gentlemen.  Because I will offer you mercy once, and only once.  I'm prepared to believe that you two don't have a day-to-day hand in the things your organization does.  I'm also prepared to believe that you do.  Trust me when I say your best interests involve convincing me of the former.  So.  Where are the rest of your strike-team friends from yesterday?"

Fyrenn glanced between the two men as they clutched at their injuries, eyes screwed shut against the pain.

The co-pilot worked up enough gall to spit out a whispered answer.

"Go to hell you feathered freak."

Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head slowly.

"That's just not the answer I was looking for.  You two obviously need some remedial training.  Here's that promised object-lesson in blocked manifolds."

Swiftly, and forcefully, Fyrenn snagged the co-pilot by the back of his flight suit, dragging him along the duracrete floor until the pair were within a foot of the spinning prop blade.

Fyrenn gestured up to the massive intake ram, and shouted to make himself heard over the din of the engine.

"That device is capable of processing more air in five seconds than you breathe in five months! But on an engine this 'small,' it's kind of delicate!  Particularly when it ingests hard physical objects of a certain size!"

He hefted the man effortlessly, and pressed his flailing legs towards the roaring maw.  

"Take a closer look!"

With a sickening crunch, followed by screams, acrid smoke, and a spine-chilling change in the engine's whine, the co-pilot disappeared feet first, inch by inch, into the intake.

Eventually, the overtaxed device succumbed to air starvation, belching forth a short-lived jet of flame, and a large cloud of sulfur-smelling smoke.

The onboard computer automatically shut down the turbine as it became too congested with biomatter to function, and the noise level slowly dissipated.

Fyrenn turned to the pilot, who had managed to regain a half-standing position by grabbing onto the side of the cockpit.  The man was staring at the burning, bloody, smoking results of Fyrenn's impromptu execution with a contorted mask of pure horror.

The red Gryphon shrugged, and sighed, speaking once more in a forced cavalier tone.

"To be honest, I didn't expect him to say anything.  Torture of the physical kind is rarely useful in getting someone to talk.  But you want to know what it does really, really well?"

Fyrenn stepped calmly to within an inch of the man's face, and gripped both of his shoulders in his claws, squeezing until blood began to soak the flight-suit's shoulder pads.

"It makes a statement.  And when you're trying to demoralize your enemy, and get them out into the open, making a statement is everything.  Basics of asymmetrical warfare.  All that being said?  My offer stands.  You tell me where you were planning to pick up your strike team, and I'll make your death humane.  Painless and fast."

The man winced, and screwed his eyes shut, but kept silent.  Fyrenn sighed, and rolled his eyes.  He released one claw, and reached into the cockpit once more, flicking a pair of override switches and depressing the ignition key for the second turbine.

The sound of the engine whirring to life seemed to jar the pilot, and he held up both hands, spluttering incoherently.

Fyrenn smiled slightly, and released him, allowing him to collapse into a heap on the floor.

"Calm down.  Use your words please.  And keep in mind...  I like liars even less than I like loud-mouths."





Veritas permitted herself a small sigh of satisfaction as she lowered the DaTab to her desk.

She had expected the Changelings to rise to the bait.  That outcome was assured by their penchant for xenophobia.  But an outcome in which they directly attacked the HLF was admittedly an absolute best case scenario.

The Unicorn glanced first down the left side of the table, then down the right, as she spoke.  The collection of officers, operatives, and leaders were predominantly Humans, interspersed with a generous number of Ponies and even the occasional Diamond Dog.

"This is good news.  The more time they waste on each other, the less chance they have to devote resources to combating our cause."

Veritas paused, and inclined her head slightly before continuing.  The room remained as still, and silent, as the dead petrified forests visible through the immense arced west-facing windows.

"I would like those of you with ties to embedded operatives within the Front to ensure those links remain viable.  The HLF may still represent a useful propaganda weapon for the generation of anti-Human sentiment.  Or at minimum, the erosion of pro-Human sentiment."

The purple hued Unicorn tossed her head to the side, and exhaled slowly.

"Now.  I'd like a report on this month's net Ponification numbers.  Full breakdown.  Conventional legal instances, Conventional illegal instances, and Forced Conversions.  I want to ensure we hit our quotas, particularly given last month's poor Bureau turnout.  We don't want to risk falling behind."





"AUUUUUUUUUUGHHHHH!"

The man collapsed to the pavement, pain exploding across the back of his left leg.  Drawing on his training, and instincts, he grabbed frantically for his pistol.

Fyrenn's claw met him halfway, batting his wrist effortlessly to the side, and sending the weapon spiraling into the gutter in the process.

"I warned you about this you know.  As I recall..."

Fyrenn paused to yank the man to his feet, pressing him against the wall of his apartment building so hard, that the duracrete tore away part of his suit jacket.  Fyrenn idly noted that it was the same make, and color, as the standard suit he had worn when he served in the same capacity.

"My exact words were to the tune of; 'If you, or any of your ilk, set foot within a mile of April ever again...'  Well, now that your boss has gone and crossed that line, I think it's only fair that I hold up my end of the bargain."

The red Gryphon pulled the body guard's right wrist backwards, and slammed it into the wall with enough force to embed the remains of his hand several inches into the material, trapping him firmly in place.

As the man screamed incoherently in pain, Fyrenn stepped back, and pulled the sleek, gleaming silver javelin from the strap on his back.

"You're going to deliver a message to Councilor Loryss for me."

The man glanced up, hissing through his teeth, and managed to at last form audible words.

"You're...  Not...  Going to kill me?"

Fyrenn shook his head.

"I told you.  I'm upholding my promise.  That means I'm going to kill you.  Violently.  Mercilessly.  Messily.  A message is only effective if it can't be easily ignored.  If you want my advice?  Hold still.  There will be slightly less pain if the blade pierces your heart cleanly."

The agent began to scream once more.  Loud cries of pain, mixed with shouts for help.  Fyrenn ignored the ruckus, concentrating on aligning his shot, and getting a feel for the heft of the javelin.

He rolled his eyes, and sighed.

"Did I forget to mention that I really, really, hate the screamers?"

With a subtle hiss, followed by the distinctive 'THUNK' of steel embedding itself in flesh and duracrete, the sidewalk went completely silent.





"I'm only going to ask you this once General.  And I expect a good answer."

Councilor Loryss paused, and leaned forward, doing her best to fix Hutch with a steely gaze as she posed her question.

"Why didn't you comply with your orders?"

The General did his best to keep a straight face, subsuming his mild amusement, and burning frustration, in favor of the best neutral expression he could muster.

"Would you like the longer answer, or the short and simple one?"

Loryss sat back, and steepled her fingers, gesturing expansively to the room.

"I didn't bring you all the way here just to find an excuse to use this old office one last time.  Make this good, or---"

Hutch snorted, rising and folding his arms.

"Or what Councilor?  Between you and me, off the record...  What are you going to do if you don't like my answer?  As we've previously discussed, you haven't got one whit's worth of jurisdiction over my command."

Councilor Loryss pursed her lips, and raised an eyebrow.

"Not everything is about direct jurisdiction Mr. Hutchinson.  You and I both know that both war, and politics, are about much more subtle arts."

The general snorted, and paced across the space to the ceiling-to-floor window that dominated the eastern side of the office.  The Bureau, and several major Manhattan landmarks were all laid out in stunning array beneath the rays of the Equestrian sun.

Hutch spoke without turning to face Loryss.

"There are three reasons I didn't hand that little girl over.  I don't expect you to understand the first two---"

The Councilor snorted.  the sound was so prim, and laden with connotation, that Hutch had to physically grit his teeth to maintain control as she spoke.

"Try me."

He shrugged, and rapped on the window experimentally.

"Fine.  Suit yourself.  Reason one;  Fyrenn is my friend, and I respect his desire to protect that child.  I trust him, and his family, more than anyone else, to see to her needs.  And two?"

Hutch turned, and smiled slyly.

"Well number two;  You're a lyin' cheatin' conspirin' bitch.  If it weren't for the political mess it'd make, I'd pitch you out this window right now and get better sleep tonight than I have all month.  And if you'll 'excuse' me for saying so...  Your perfume smells like a dumpster."

There was a long pause, during which the General felt an immensely powerful sensation of warm satisfaction rush through his veins, as Loryss steamed from the comfort of her overstuffed puce executive chair.

At last, she seemed to get her emotions in check.

"Your third reason?"

Hutch's face fell, taking on a more serious, hardened aspect.

"Reason three?  I value my life.  The lives of those under my command.  And the future of the Human race."

Another, albeit considerably shorter pause ensued, before Loryss spoke.

"Elaborate."

Hutch sedately moved back to the guest chair, leaning against it and folding his hands casually.

"How much do you really know about Gryphons Councilor?"

Before Loryss could respond, Hutch held up a hand, and continued.

"Because I know quite a bit.  I work with them very closely, every single day.  I took time to understand them.  To get to know them.  To read their literature, and history too.  And let me warn you...  You think you have this situation under control?  You think you're holding the cards?  That you're safe?"

Hutch leaned forward, dropping the tone and volume of his voice as he narrowed his eyes.

"You are like a child playing with a stick of dynamite, and a box of lit matches."

The general paused, inhaled, and pulled back to a casual standing position before continuing.

"The last time someone kidnapped Gryphon fledglings, it started a war.  In less than a decade that war turned a race with vast political influence, stable culture, and the largest military by-numbers in all of Equestria, into a smoldering ash heap.  It was two inches and a sneeze away from total genocide of a species."

Hutch held up both hands and shrugged.

"Want to know why?  Let me enlighten you.  Gryphons see justice differently than our courts.  To them, anyone who stands by while preventable evil is done, anyone who willingly or through negligence aided those who committed the atrocity, and anyone in a position of authority who fails to disavow the evil actions of a subordinate and act to restore justice?  Is directly complicit.  Is equally guilty."

Hutch raised an eyebrow as he finished the thought.

"Is subject to the same punishment."

He paused once more, and began pacing.  Loryss did not speak, so he continued.

"I've seen a lot of things in my time as an officer.  And I've learned a little something about how the different species tick.  The one thing Humans have, that native Equestrians generally don't, is our drive.  To expand.  Invent.  Challenge ourselves."

Hutch folded his arms, and directed his gaze out the window once more.  Loryss sat back and sighed, drumming one finger absently on the desk as the General went on.

"But they have things that we lack too.  That's why they call Conversion a 'cultural-instinctive symbiotic process.'  You want to know what the warrior races, Gryphons especially, have that we don't?"

Loryss sighed again, and closed her eyes momentarily.

"Since I know I can't dissuade you from babbling inanely about it... 'Enlighten' me."

Hutch once again took up a position leaning on the back of the guest chair.

"They are predators."

He locked eyes with Loryss as he continued.

"I've worked with thousands, and thousands, of Human trainees, and soldiers.  You have to break a Human being, completely, and remake them in a crucible just to get them to fire their weapon *at* an enemy, instead of over his head.  Even if you put aside our relatively weak bodies, and in spite of all our fantastic technology...  We're 'only' adaptors.  Merely soldiers at our best."

The General threw up his hands, and once again allowed himself a small grin.

"Gryphons?  They are warriors by nature, and predators by birthright.  Even a ten year old fledgling can, and will, fight viciously, lethally, and with total abandon in defense of its morals, or homeland.  A lone adult Gryphon doesn't even need training to have a military effectiveness rating hundreds of thousands of times higher than the most highly trained and well equipped *squad* of unaugmented Human soldiers."

Hutch extended a finger, shaking it emphasize every word.

"The hunt, the kill?  Blood in the sand and the cries of the dying?  For them that is a natural state.  Politics mean nothing to them but a dirty word for two-bit power hungry thugs.  Rules?  Laws?  They exist, for a Gryphon, to serve morals, and morals alone.  When they fail to do that, they become meaningless.  Justice?  They'll bring down an *empire* at the expense of millions of their own lives, for the sake of justice."

The General ran a hand through his hair, and screwed his eyes shut as he conjured difficult images from his memory.

"The race that loves the young of any species, and treats them like the most valuable treasure in the world?  They mercilessly orphaned thousands of Troll pups, just because the species in question forcefully passes down its beliefs and objectives hereditarily.  Because every Troll is potentially a combatant.  They orphaned those children, doomed them to difficult lives, without hesitation, because they had one hundred percent ironclad assurance and knowledge that they'd grow up to seek out, and kill Gryphon and Pony young if they matured under the ideals of their forbears."

Hutch snorted, and chuckled grimly.

"And now?  You've pissed off one of the few Gryphons who used to be a Human.  Product of symbiosis.  He has the best of both worlds, and full military special forces training to boot.  He put two of my men in intensive care because they didn't catch on to the situation fast enough.  He put a dozen of yours in caskets without even breaking a sweat.  And every member of his kind will back him to the hilt, no matter what that entails.  He doesn't even have to ask.  Because he is fighting for a shared species-level ideal as much as for that little girl."

Councilor Loryss echoed Hutch's chuckle.  The sound was so fundamentally annoying, that Hutch imagined it was the equivalent of taking a cheese grater to his eardrums.

"What are you implying General?  That you're afraid of this red feather-bag?"

Hutch's face hardened, and he nodded emphatically.

"Afraid, Councilor?  No.  I'm absolutely fucking terrified.  If you provoke him, there is no limit, to what he is capable of.  None.  And if you push it far enough, you risk involving more people on both sides.  If you make this into a wider scale issue?  You will potentially endanger the stability of this entire planet in the process.  You know he has the ear of the Gryphons' King, Queen, and Crown Prince directly, right?"

The General gestured to the window, his tone and pace quickening.

"You know that they would consider what you're doing to these children an act of war?  Right?  You have any idea what the simulation numbers say about a war between us, and them?  Even the most pacifistic agrarian Equestrian race, the Ponies, are capable of ending us as a goddamn species inside a two year span, if they mobilized fully.  And that without any help from the others, facing off against all our technology and assets.  You involve the Gryphons?  Our military would be non-existent inside two months, the rest of humanity in FIVE.  And that's our best-case guess, leaving the Dragons out of it."

Loryss tilted her head, and smiled slightly.

"For the sake of argument, General, let us assume I know something about these children's...  'Illegal augmentations.'  If that's the case, might they not be our government's answer to these statistics?"

Hutch shook his head, his mouth falling open in shock.

"You don't understand!  Technology is not at issue here!  No matter what we do, or what we have, we will always be natural-born prey animals.  They have the advantage in every single category outside technology, and most of those benchmarks matter far more than which particular model of toy pop-gun we can bring to bear on any given day."

Hutch chuckled grimly, groaned, and threw back his head, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I've watched UNARMED Gryphons disassemble tank brigades with minimal losses.  I've seen a LONE Dragon wipe out an entire naval missile cruiser.  I've even heard tell of Pegasi obliterating whole regiments of their enemies just by dropping three-mile-wide tornadoes on them.  I am not about to tell my men to stand in Fyrenn's way.  They would be no match, and he would not hesitate to squish them like so many tin soda cans under a train."

Loryss rolled her eyes, sat back, and steepled her fingers once more.

"This is moot, General.  The subject in question is a Human child.  Not Fyrenn's fledgling."

Hutch shook his head, and sighed.

"I'm not so sure.  Species is irrelevant on this point.  Gryphons are vicious and merciless in their defense of those under their care.  They've carried out entire campaigns, suffered intense pain and loss, to defend Ponykind.  Fyrenn in particular has taken strongly to April, in a personal way.  Maybe he doesn't fully grasp it yet, but I think it has a *lot* to do with paternal instinct."

The Councilor sighed, and shook her head.

"General, I think you're vastly overstating the issues at play here.  This is a case of an insubordinate soldier going off halfcocked on a wild wide-eyed chase for a nonexistent  conspiracy theory."

She rose, and gestured to the door.

"If you won't hand over the child, I will have her taken.  By force.  As it is within my legal right to do.  If your men, of any species or rank, stand in the way, mine will have orders to treat them as terrorists.  And to pursue with lethal force."

Hutch paused at the door, and turned.

"You're wrong Councilor.  Until, or unless you start to see Fyrenn as a Gryphon, not just a soldier, you won't even have the most basic grasp of the variables at play here.  And when your men run afoul of the fate that's coming to them?  Mine will have orders not to lift so much as a finger to save them."
> Chapter 45
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
March 31st, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn caught sight of the flame the moment the Bureau was in sight.  Focusing his eyes, he swiftly realized that the conflagration was actually a small contained blaze within a ring of concrete blocks situated on a flat part of the building's roof.

Neyla and April were busy preparing some sort of bread product, while Kephic and Varan fried skewers of meat and fruit over the open flame.  Skye sat to the side, warming her hooves against the unseasonably cool night, and Carradan was busy preparing immense tankards for drinks.

Fyrenn tilted his wings slightly, and diverted from his original destination at the front of the Bureau, alighting in a spray of gravel at the opposite end of the roof.  He liked to stick fast landings occasionally, to test his leg tolerances.

The red Gryphon took a few halting steps towards the group, then paused, enamored with the chance to simply watch them in their preparations.

His musings were swiftly interrupted by the sound of Stan's hooves crunching their way through the gravel towards him.

The Pegasus flopped down onto his haunches beside Fyrenn, and allowed the silence to continue for a moment before speaking.

"April's idea.  She said she has a list of things she and Sonya planned to do after they got free.  'Picnic' was pretty easy to fulfill, so we obliged.  Comforting sight yeah?"

Fyrenn nodded, and smiled.

"Yeah.  Sometimes I have to just stop, and take it in.  I'm not..."

He paused, momentarily at a loss for words.

"I'm just struck by it all sometimes.  I like to make sure I never reach a point where it becomes routine.  Where I take it for granted."

Stan nodded, and snorted.

"I know exactly whatcha mean.  My past family life probably takes more craptacular awards than even yours.  Mom was never there, and I don't entirely blame her.  Dad was...  Well no tears were shed when he shuffled off, that's for sure."

Fyrenn decided not to press the issue, and ruin the moment.  He simply let the conversation lapse, keeping his eyes fixed on April as Neyla showed her how to slice into a loaf of bread without slicing open her fingers.

Carradan broke the silence again, gesturing with a hoof towards the pair.

"Puttin' aside the fact that you're lettin' a good thing languish there with Neyla..."

Fyrenn offered the Pegasus a mock death glare, to which Carradan responded with a sly smile as he continued.

"...Why are you holdin' April at arm's length?"

There was an uncomfortable pause, before Stan forged ahead.

"I mean, I know you're lookin' out for her, and I know you love her...  But you put her up in a separate room.  You make her spend more time with the others, on purpose, when out of the whole group she's most attached to you and Neyla."

The Pegasus locked eyes with the red Gryphon, piercing him with a surprisingly tenacious and angry glower.

"That girl hasn't got anyone anymore except us, and you in particular.  You think that's about to change at the drop of a hat?  Everyone else out there either doesn't give a scat, or wants to slit her throat.  She won't stop talking about you.  Won't stop asking questions about being a Gryphon.  She'd have taken that Potion on day one if you offered it to her."

Fyrenn shook his head, and sighed.

"Stan.  Stop.  You know what its like to grow up with only one parent.  In a way, I do too.  No kid should have to live with that disadvantage if they have other options."

Carradan grunted, and shook his head.

"Laying aside the fact that she's practically got a mother already..."

The Pegasus gestured towards Neyla once more as he finished the statement.

"No.  She doesn't have other options featherbrain.  No Human parent is gonna adopt a war-torn battle-hardened child soldier with metal in her spine and weird powers.  She'll never make it as one of us pretty pastel Ponies either.  She's not that type.  I've seen the same fire in her eyes as yours.  And I've seen the love, when both of you look at each other."

Fyrenn snorted, the sound almost metamorphosing into a subdued sob.

"Stan...  I am not ready to be a father.  Not even close."

Carradan exhaled sharply, and rolled his eyes as he rose.

"Puh-leeze.  No one ever is.  No one can be.  But I'll tell you something...  She needs you.  And knowing you?  You need her too.  You're up to scratch as far as I'm concerned."

Fyrenn chuckled, and winced.

"Says the guy who's madly in love with a Changeling."

Carradan reached out and rammed his hoof gently into Fyrenn's side as the pair began moving towards the impromptu campfire.  As he delivered his response, Fyrenn retaliated with a brief crushing hug from his right wing.

"I ain't the one snubbin' cupid at every turn.  *Oof!*  It takes all types, featherduster."





"Ma'am!  You need to see this!"

Councilor Loryss steepled her fingers as her secretary dashed into the office without knocking.

"Alice...  Has no one taught you that it's rude to enter an office without permission?"

The woman shook her head, and gestured to the wall screen opposite the door, fumbling awkwardly with the control panel.

"You know how your guard, Mike, failed to report in today?  We know why."

At last, the screen came to life, displaying a gruesome sight.  Behind a grimacing reporter a pair of coroners were trying to separate Mike's body from an immense titanium javelin, which had skewered him to the wall of a building, like a bug in a display case.

Alice held a hand to her mouth, and shook her head slowly.

"What in the world *is* that?!"

Loryss turned dispassionately back to her desk, and sighed.

"It's called a statement Alice.  Cancel my evening appointments."





Fyrenn turned directly into his room as he reached the door, allowing April to fall behind slightly as she riveted his back with a confused stare.

He gestured to a small pallet of pillows and blankets beside his bed.

"You won't be needing your own room anymore."

In an instant, the little girl was practically on Fyrenn's back, scooping up part of one wing, and his neck in a bear hug.

He smiled, and did his best to conceal his wince.  April had latched onto his sore wing.  She dropped to the floor, and giggled sheepishly.

"Sorry."

Fyrenn's smile widened, and he shrugged.

"Believe me.  I've had worse."

April narrowed her eyes, suppressing a mischievous grin.

"Prove it.  Tell me one of your stories."

Fyrenn gestured with a claw, rolling his eyes slightly.

"Neyla put your nightclothes in the bathroom.  Get changed, *brush,* and I don't mean just ten seconds of swirling the handle idly, and then we'll talk about stories."

As April skipped across the room, around the corner, and into the bathroom, Neyla peeked her head around the door frame, smiling.

"I think that was the best leave day I've ever had.  She's amazingly resilient for a Human raised in a constant state of pain, and fear."

Fyrenn shrugged, and sighed.

"Well...  When you're in a crucible, you either toughen up, or you flake apart.  There is no middle ground.  Only time will tell if the optimism sticks though.  Bitterness can be very subtle, and very insidious."

Neyla flashed Fyrenn a small, sad smile.

"Humans are full of wonderful idioms, and proverbs.  One of my favorites is;  Practice what you preach."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 1st, Gregorian Calendar

Though the room was a black as velvet to unaided Human eyes, its occupants found it easy to discern its features.

The four men were clad in highly flexible, thin, biophobic fabric that was nearly as black as the darkness itself, and designed to produce no sound whatsoever when its wearer moved.

Each carried a full sized bullpup laser carbine.  An efficient, guaranteed, traceless way to eliminate someone unarmored, at close range.  Each wore a slim, matte black lightweight helmet, with built in LADAR-based night vision.

The four men had even opened the door soundlessly, disabling the pneumatic actuators from the outside, and manually inching the panels into their open positions.

There was no verbal communication.  Only the occasional hand signal to confirm orders and observations.

The four operatives knew their target.  And it seemed as if their objective would be simpler than they could have ever imagined.

One prone form, large and visibly moving with the pressure of its own breath, was distinctively red and feathered.  The other, nestled on a nearby pallet, was decidedly smaller and Human.

One man moved to the window, the other to cover the door.  The third moved to place the barrel of his weapon against Fyrenn's temple, the other to place his bedside April's head.

The man beside the red Gryphon held up all five fingers on his right hand, and began to count down.

Five.

Four.

Three.

Two.

One.

As his left index finger moved onto the trigger, his world radically reshaped itself.

Before the man could draw his next breath, Fyrenn's right claw was twisting his rifle in the direction of his comrade, and his left had perforated the man's brain stem in four places.

As the first man dropped dead soundlessly, Fyrenn squeezed the trigger, placing a perfect cauterized circular hole through the second assailant's throat, thus severing his spine before he could do April harm.

The other two men sprang into action, but by then it was far too late for them.  The first was dead before Fyrenn could turn his weapon on him.  Neyla stood behind him, her RAC's muzzle still steaming, as he dropped to the floor missing half of his left chest cavity.

April came bolt upright, reflexively extending both hands and shouting in anger and fear as the final assailant closed on her.

With a whine, and a visible distortion, the air around him rippled.  His body abruptly shot backwards, as if it had been hit by a train, passing effortlessly through the safety glass of the room's window as though it were mere cobwebs.

Fyrenn listened for his long scream, and then the distant crunch as the man lost a momentary argument with gravity, inertia, the density of duracrete, and the Earth's mass.

Almost as quickly as it had begun, it was over.

Before Fyrenn could even fully rise, April had buried herself under one of his wings, and was clutching at his side.

Neyla dashed to the window, and glanced down at the carnage below, confirming that the final assailant was, in fact dead.

She made her way over to Fyrenn as Kephic and Varan dashed in, nuzzling her beak under his wing until she found April.  She offered the girl the Gryphic equivalent of a motherly kiss, before pulling away, and glowering down at the remaining dead bodies.

No one needed to speak, but Fyrenn did so, nonetheless.

"This is going to stop.  And I will not rest until it does."





"What are you up to?"

Carradan nosed his way into Fyrenn's room, and winced as he saw the impromptu tarp covering over the window.  The sight conjured up bad memories of Skye's past injuries.

Fyrenn glanced up from his DaTab, and sighed.  He forced the object into a small plastic sleeve, and tossed it onto his desk.

"You've heard about our two-AM visitors?"

Stan nodded, and exhaled sharply.

"These assclowns just don't know when to quit."

Fyrenn nodded, and sighed.  He glanced at his packed bag and snorted.  Most of it consisted of a first aid kit, April's clothing, and his Sword and scabbard.

"Stan...  April and I are taking a trip, of sorts.  We need to travel fast, and low profile.  So it's really just a trip for two."

Carradan nodded, and smiled.

"Slim chances are better than no chances, right?"

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded slowly.

"Right."

He paused, and glanced down at the DaTab in its storage sleeve.

"Will you do me a favor?  Take this to the officer on duty and tell him to file it with his daily reports for auto-processing."

Stan raised an eyebrow, and took the object on one wing.

"Do I wanna know?"

Fyrenn shook his head as he hefted his bag, and made his way out the door.

"No.  But if you want to look, you have my permission.  I trust you.  In fact, I'd feel better if you knew."

Carradan nodded, and smiled.

"Hey feathers?  Good luck."

Fyrenn snorted as he rapped once on Neyla's door with his right claw.

"I don't really buy into the idea of luck.  But I certainly appreciate the sentiment."

The door hissed open, and Fyrenn tossed the Pegasus a final grin as the latter made his way down the hall to the lift.

As the door closed once more, the red Gryphon inclined his head towards the inner part of the room.

"Is she still sleeping?"

Neyla shook her head, and sighed.

"No, but she hasn't been very energetic.  I think the events of the night drained her.  Physically, mentally, and emotionally."

Fyrenn nodded, and made his way quietly to April's side.  She was seated cross-legged in the center of Neyla's bed, staring blankly at the wall screen as morning news and weather scrolled by.

Her face brightened slightly as Fyrenn flopped down beside her.

"Morning."

The red Gryphon chuckled, and crooked his neck briefly around April in an approximation of a hug.

"Morning.  Get any sleep?"

April shook her head, yawning reflexively.

"Not really.  You?"

Fyrenn chuckled again, and shook his head.

"Not even close."

A moment of silence passed.  April remained vacantly fixated on the morning weather, and Neyla stood in the doorway, content to observe in silence.  Fyrenn extended one wing, and placed it around April like a protective canopy.  The gesture got her attention, and Fyrenn spoke as soon as he was sure she was fully attentive.

"Someone recently told me that I needed to think very carefully about your future.  He was right.  After all you've been through, and considering all the options...  And after what happened last night..."

April remained dutifully silent, fixated on Fyrenn's eyes as he did his best to frame his thoughts well.

"April...  The law is not going to save you.  The government is complicit in everything that's happened to you...  And no one else in the world is willing to do anything but turn a blind eye."

The girl's face fell, and tears began to well up in the corners of her eyes.

"So...  What are you saying?  I can't...  I can't..."

Fyrenn pulled April close with his wing, and shook his head.

"I'm saying you can't afford to wait until the legal Ponification age.  They will throw everything they have at us, and then some, and eventually that will amount to more than we can handle.  But I have an alternative."

April's face immediately went taught with anticipation, though tears continued to build up sporadically in her eyes as Fyrenn continued.

"You remember I said that I wasn't always a Gryphon.  I'm sure you saw the news when the Gryphon Conversion program began..."

April nodded meekly, jamming a hand into one eye to remove the moisture.  Fyrenn canted the edge of one wing inward, and used the softest part of his outer primaries to finish the job in a more delicate fashion.

"What I'm about to suggest is completely illegal.  It involves essentially kidnapping you in the eyes of the law.  Stealing classified and protected government substances.  We will probably get into a great deal of trouble over it, and we may even lose our citizenships here.  They might kick us off the planet outright.  If we live to get that far.  I understand that it's not a decision you should have to make under pressure, but we don't really have time for you to give it a lot of consideration."

Fyrenn paused, inhaled, and pulled April close once again as he steeled himself.

"I won't lie to you.  Excluding all the other risks, there's also a solid chance you could die, or that the process simply won't function on you...  But I want to offer you the same gift they offered me.  A pair of wings, a new life, and a family."

There was a long, tense, still moment.  April seemed to have frozen entirely, as she began to try and process the words.  Fyrenn felt as if his chest were compressing under an immense load.

All at once, April cannoned into his chest and side, squeezing him as tightly as her little arms could, and sobbing hysterically with joy, and relief.

"Yes!  Yes, yes, yes, yes!"

Fyrenn wrapped both wings tightly around the young girl, and shot a melancholy smile up at Neyla.

The Gryphoness stepped into the center of the room, and began pulling pieces of armor from her storage crate.

"When do we leave?"

The red Gryphon chuckled and held up a claw.

"Hang on.  'We?'  No.  I am not asking you to place yourself in this position."

Neyla shrugged as she began to cinch on her wing guards.

"I know.  And I'm not asking for your permission.  I don't need or want it."

She gestured with one claw to the crate.

"I checked you out a set.  Best you get that adjusted, while I inform the others.  We'll need a distraction if we expect to have the requisite time to force our way into the Potion Vault.  And you know how badly Varan's been looking for an excuse to make use of the latest tactical canister launcher."

Fyrenn smiled sadly as Neyla seated her helmet with one claw, and her crossbow with the other.

"You really do defy description sometimes.  And I'm very grateful."

The Gryphoness snorted as she made her way to the door.

"You defy description most of the time, so I suppose Stan would say we deserve each other.  I will see you at the lower access door in twelve minutes."





To Fyrenn's surprise, the lift doors opened onto Hutch's frowning visage.

"General."

Hutch crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow, noting that April was sheltering under Fyrenn's partially extended right wing.

"You don't get to cross this line Fyrenn.  You have your motivations, and I respect them.  But you have absolutely no right... 
To walk out of here without saying goodbye to me."

Fyrenn sighed in relief, and shook his head slowly as he stepped out of the lift with April.

"It's not that I don't trust you.  It's more that I wanted to give you the wonderful gift of plausible deniability."

Hutch snorted, and rolled his eyes.

"I've already burnt that bridge to a toasty crisp.  I don't need that sort of protection.  People have a problem with me, they can take it up with my nine millimeter.  You just do what you have to do, and I'll keep the porch light on for your return."

Fyrenn smiled, and wrapped Hutch in a brief hug with both forelegs.

"Thank you."

As Hutch pulled away, his smile fell to something more melancholy.  The tone of his words matched.  Fyrenn couldn't quite lay claw to it, but it gave him pause.

"You were right, you know.  The questions you're asking?  The lines you're crossing?  I think we've both spent too long using our orders, our flags, and our oaths as excuses for the things they've asked us to do.  To accept.  You're doing the right thing.  I'll see you again soon."

Neyla's voice accompanied the sound of her paws and claws on the tiling of the floor.

"I wouldn't 'hold my breath' if I were you Hutch.  If things don't go according to plan, we may have to stay hidden for a more protracted period."

As Varan and Kephic made their way in from the corridor, the former grunted in a low tone.

"Mmmm.  Well nothing ever goes precisely according to plan with you two, so there is no need for speculation here."

Fyrenn took a moment to indulge an embrace with both Kephic, and Varan, noting that they were each garbed in their armor, and heavily armed.

"Try not to burn the place down in the process of causing a distraction."

Kephic smirked, and waggled a claw.

"Results may vary.  But we'll try not to go entirely overboard."

Varan nodded sagely.

"Indeed.  We will need this building intact if we are to protect General Hutchinson, Commander Aston, Skye, and Stanley from reprisal."

There was a long pause, broken only by a soft giggle from April.  Fyrenn sighed, and chuckled dryly.  Varan nodded, and inclined his head.

"I see.  I have missed the 'punchline' again."

Hutch folded his hands behind his back, and stepped into the lift, whistling innocently.

"And I am about to miss all the warning signs that there's about to be a massive breach of building security that results in surprisingly little damage, or casualties."

As the doors irised closed, the General waved at April, and winked.

"Stay safe kiddo."

As the lift thrummed away up the clear glass tube and into the upper floors, Neyla gestured to one of the stairwell access doors on the far side of the atrium.

"We don't have an abundance of time.  It won't be long before either the staff notice us behaving suspiciously, or our enemies make another attempt to rectify their mistake."

Fyrenn nodded, and smiled as Kephic and Varan traded goodbye hugs with April.

The group split in silence, with Neyla, April and Fyrenn hurrying into the stairwell, while Kephic and Varan made their way back to the elevator bank.  As the stairwell door closed, Fyrenn caught a faint glimpse of Varan unslinging his launcher, and loading in a diluted tear gas canister.

"He enjoys testing that thing on live targets just a little too much."

As the trio descended the stairs as quickly as April could manage, Neyla snorted.

"You're one to talk.  What is his kill-count for the past week, as compared to yours?"

Fyrenn inclined his head as he pulled open the maintenance door at the foot of the steps.

"Touché."

A familiar tan and cobalt shape stood at the end of the hardened access corridor.  Skye's horn was alight, and the access panel housing for the door was strewn across the ground in thirty different pieces.

Fyrenn chuckled and sized up the immense steel and titanium portal.

"I wondered where you had gotten off to.  I also wondered how I was going to bring down this door, and the half-dozen countermeasure systems on the other side, given that my access codes are invalid these days."

Skye cracked a wry smile as she flicked through a series of holographic controls with one hoof, while simultaneously adjusting the thaumatic strands of her spell.

"I wasn't about to feel left out.  I've always wanted to see what it would take to break into the systems I helped retrofit... Turns out it's simpler than I figured it would be.  We didn't build it to defeat my particular brand of magical 'tweaking.' "

The Unicorn spared a momentary glance, and a smile, for April.

"Just one sec.  Auntie Skye needs to finish committing this teeny tiny felony cybercrime, and then you'll be on your way."

A few moments passed, filled with the soft burbling noise of Skye's magic, and punctuated with the trills of the panel's responses.  Abruptly, the holographic interface fizzled away, and the door unlatched with a variety of whines, clanks, and hissing sounds indicating the deactivation of both magnetic and pneumatic clamps.

The tan Unicorn stood back, nuzzled April, and grinned.

"See?  Piece of cake."

Fyrenn smiled, and scooped Skye into a hug with one wing.

"I really appreciate it.  I was afraid I'd have to resort to a plasma cutter."

Skye snorted, pressed her head into the crook of Fyrenn's neck, then shook it emphatically as she stepped away.

"Nothing so boorish big-red.  Ya know you keep me around for *something* after all."

The red Gryphon nodded towards the stairwell.

"For a lot of things, Skye.  Much more important things even than that spectacular brain of yours.  And I'd like you to stick around in one piece going forward, same as the rest of the family.  You better make tracks before the alarm system resets."

Skye smirked as she dashed across to the door, and pushed it inwards with one hoof.

"Waaaay ahead of you feathers.  Good luck."

Fyrenn turned and made his way down the center aisle of the Potion Vault, Neyla herding April along behind with one outstretched wing.

The space was intimately familiar to the red Gryphon.  Angular ceiling trusses held up a one and a half story concrete vault as long as a football field, and almost half as wide.  Potion canisters lined tall, sturdy shelves bolted to the floor.

Canisters were sealed, in groups of four, by clear plexiglass cubes bordered with gray carbon fiber shock protection material.  The vast majority of the potion cylinders glowed with a faint purple luminescence, but a few near the end of the space glowed red, blue, and telltale gold.

Fyrenn made his way purposefully to a box containing cylinders of the latter color, and removed it gingerly from its place.

He sized up the plexiglass siding, before carefully depressing one index talon into the material, and making a series of forceful circular motions.  The paneling had been designed primarily to prevent accidental spillage if the casing was dropped.  It had never been intended as a serious security measure.

With the tiny, soft 'thud' of a broken airtight seal, the piece of glass fell away, leaving a hole large enough to extract one of the potion cylinders.

Fyrenn paused as he held the golden object up to the light.  The material was viscous, like a milkshake.  Semitransparent and gold colored, it glistened and sparkled faintly as light interacted with the thaumatic energies, and programmable nanoparticles contained within.

April stared up at the cylinder in awe as Fyrenn carefully wrapped it in several of her spare shirts, and secreted it in his bag.  He slung the object between his wings, and nodded to the door.

"I'm betting we'll have alarms inside ten seconds, and there will be an armed response before we exit the building.  We have no way to tell the difference between people just doing their jobs, and more aggressive elements.  So we use appropriate force.  No hesitations."

Fyrenn glanced down at April, and mustered a comforting half-smile

"Stay between us.  Don't overexert yourself trying to protect us, or to help in any other way.  You just stay close and be ready to hold on to Neyla tightly when the time comes."

As the trio reached the stairwell, the first set of alarms began to blare piercingly from behind every wall.  Fyrenn gestured up the many flights of stairs, into the gloom of the upper stories.

"Standard procedure involves a total building lockdown, but most of those procedures were written by Humans, to stop Humans.  If we take this stairwell halfway up, we can breach the low-security door on one of the interim levels, and find an opportune window."

Neyla sighed, and pulled April up onto her back as she began to take the stairs seven at a time.

"I hate stairs.  Complete and total waste of space for something with a perfectly good set of wings."

Fyrenn nodded as he bounded from landing to landing, counting the floors and the seconds since the alarm had been raised.

As he reached the fifteenth floor, the red Gryphon paused, and held up a fisted claw.  Neyla let April slide gently off her back, then guided her to a position of relative safety in one corner of the stairwell.

Fyrenn pointed to the door, and drew his sword.

"I'd expect to see one guard.  Two if they were unusually fast on the uptake."

The two Gryphons extended their forelegs in tandem, and slammed them into the door with as much force as they could muster.

The entryway caved in and flew several feet into the corridor, striking something with a thud, and a groan of pain.  Fyrenn pivoted around the door, and found himself face to face with a ConSec guard, flat on his back, with his left leg crushed under the stairwell door.

The man's pistol was raised, and his face was grim.  Fyrenn leveled his sword, and glared.

"Drop the weapon, and we'll be on our way.  Refuse, and you'll be treated as complicit with our enemies.  We both know I'll have you where I want you, long before your trigger finger even begins to move, so let's not play pointless games."

The soldier winced, and shook his head.

"I have strict orders.  Detain anyone who passes.  No exceptions."

Fyrenn shrugged, and took a step into the corridor.

"That's a shame.  In advance?  I am sorry for the stitches."

The Gryphon watched as a thousand tiny cues in the man's skin and eyes told him he was preparing to move his trigger finger.  Fyrenn struck first.

By the time the neurons in the man's hand were ready to send commands to the appropriate muscles, his brain's normal functions had already been interrupted by the force of a carefully calibrated blow from the pommel of Fyrenn's weapon.

As Neyla brought April in from the stairwell, Fyrenn reached down and shifted the crumpled doorway, covering the unconscious soldier's vision in order to prolong his dazed somnolence.

He gestured to the window, and stiffened, as the sound of perturbed voices and heavy boots on carpet issued from around the curve of the corridor.

"Exit stage left."

Neyla snatched up April, and retreated to the far wall with Fyrenn.  The red Gryphon went first, extending his sword outwards perpendicular to the plate glass of the window as he broke into the fastest lope he could manage in such confined space.

The blade made short work of the plexiglass, providing more than enough of a structural breakage to allow Fyrenn to shatter the entire massive pane.

As he broke free of the structure, and pulled into a steep climb, he heard Neyla directly behind him.  He would have volunteered to carry April, but he still harbored concerns about his sore wing.

By the time the responding guards finished aiding their bruised comrade, Fyrenn, April, and Neyla had long since vanished into a low hanging strand of cloud.
> Chapter 46
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 1st, Gregorian Calendar

"This is the reason I had reservations about following through on your suggestion."

Councilor Loryss squinted across the desk at Minos, and frowned sharply, cutting off any potential objection before it could even pass his lips.

"There was always a substantial risk that the asset would be moved out of our zone of influence.  The further from us that the Gryphon takes her, the greater the chance we lose track of her, and in turn the greater the chance the things she knows will return to damage this Echelon."

Minos sighed, and shook his head slowly.

"We still have tracking.  We're following the emissions of her jamming bracelet and we could---"

Loryss glanced to the side, and held up one hand, cutting off Minos instantly.  She allowed several moments of silence to pass before speaking.

"Your performance as an administrator in this program has been lacking.  As a result, it has been decided that you will be re-assigned to a new endeavor, that requires less finesse.  Effective immediately."

Minos shook his head emphatically, licking his lips in a reflexive sign of nervous irritation.

"No one else in Echelon Twelve is qualified to handle this program.  I've been overseeing these assets from the beginning."

The Councilor waved one hand dismissively, and picked up a DaTab from her desk, fiddling absently with the screen as she spoke.

"You've become a liability here.  I will be replacing you, as I have administrative experience with the program.  Other resources will be deployed to retrieve the asset.  You will report to your next contact..."

The Councilor placed the DaTab onto her desk, and slid it across to Minos.

"...As described in this information packet.  The Echelon will not look favorably on any future mistakes.  Let alone insubordination, or complaints.  Do we understand each other?"

Minos grit his teeth, and wrapped his hands tightly around the DaTab.  He spent a long moment glaring at Loryss, before finally nodding.  When he opened his mouth, his tone was cold, and forcibly emotionless.

"Yes ma'am."





"Where exactly *are* we headed, Fyrenn?  You've barely said a word in five hours."

Neyla twisted her neck first to the left, then to the right, to alleviate a small cramp.  From her position on the Gryphoness' back, April yawned, and nodded.

"Yeah, how much longer?  I love being up here...  But I'm starting to get kinda hungry."

Fyrenn twisted the satchel off his shoulder, and dug into a side pocket.  A moment later, a glistening plastic package zipped across the intervening space.  Neyla snatched it out of the air before it could began a downward spiral towards the ocean.

The Gryphoness slit the packaging neatly with her beak, and passed the Jerky up to April, who tucked into it with gusto.

Fyrenn adjusted his course ever so slightly, and Neyla followed suit.  The red Gryphon allowed himself a long moment to sweep the gray noon horizon before speaking.

"We need a medical facility.  Considering the implants, we can't risk doing this procedure anywhere except a well equipped trauma bay, under the supervision of a professional doctor.  But we also can't risk an interruption to the procedure."

Fyrenn fixed his gaze on a silhouette at the very edge of his vision cone.  The object was just coming over the curvature of the Earth.  He grinned slightly as he continued, watching Neyla's expression turn from bemusement, to awe.

"So we need a location so secure, that even the best of infiltrators have a hard time gaining access.  A location they would be *afraid* to access.  Or even approach."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and began shaking her head slowly.

"This fits the criteria.  I'll give you that.  But you don't think this might be just a bit..."

Fyrenn chuckled, and returned his gaze to the object, which was clearly identifiable as a ship to Gryphon eyes.  Neyla sighed, and continued shaking her head.

"Ah.  Yes.  Subtlety is not your style."

April leaned down against Neyla's neck, and squinted, holding one hand above her eyes in an attempt to block out some light and resolve the image.

"What is it?  Is it a boat?"

Fyrenn's smile widened, and he inclined his head slightly.

"Not *precisely* a boat, no..."

April's face twisted into a puzzled glare as she kept her eyes riveted to the spot where the object sat.  As the distance gradually eroded under the swift impetus of the Gryphons' wings, the gray and black shape resolved itself into something that even Human eyes could identify.

April's mouth fell open, and her face went taught with awe and shock.  Neyla smirked, and let out a low whistle.

Fyrenn gestured with one claw, and continued to smirk.

"Not a boat.  A Battleship."

The vessel's features were readily visible, even to April, as the group closed to within a mile of the immense ship.  The craft was underway at a reduced patrol speed, kicking up a long wake of white foam behind it as it cut through the sea like some sort of medieval bladed weapon.

The hull was designed after a massive trimaran, with two outer hulls connected to a much larger inner tumblehome design by struts above, and below the water.

Three vast turrets, each mounting three wicked looking A-RAC assault railgun barrels, defined the skyline of the fore and rear decks.  The center of the ship was mostly taken up with a tall, angular, heavily armored island structure.

Doors for a rear VTOL pad, and fighter craft retrieval peeked out from the fear, and a pair of aircraft launch tubes provided blood-channel like depressions port and starboard on the forward hull.

The entire monstrosity was painted in three-tone gray dazzle camouflage patterns, broken only by a stark white '55' on the forward hull.

Fyrenn chuckled, and swept the sleeping giant with his eyes.

"FBB Fifty Five.  UES North Carolina.  Wake Island Class Battleship displacing eighty two thousand tons loaded.  One thousand and seven hundred crew members counting embarked pilots and special task force marines.  Nine identical five hundred millimeter tactical assault railguns with a muzzle velocity of Mach seventeen.  Shell mass of twenty five tons.  Each."

The red Gryphon shrugged, and pointed with an index talon.

"Not to mention the two Helios guns fore and aft: Turbine driven eight barrel repeating rail-saws with a half-ton slug weight, delivering two hundred rounds per second.  Plus eight six inch gimbal guns, fifty VLS missile tubes, and three centerline torpedo launch tubes; Two fore, one aft."

Neyla shook her head once more, and snorted.

"Have you memorized the specification for *every* piece of naval hardware floating?"

Fyrenn shrugged, and sighed.

"I'm only three quarters through the current technical manuals."

There was a protracted pause, during which April and Neyla both stared slack-jawed at the red Gryphon.  At last, he raised an eyebrow.

"What?  I had to read something for the past three years.  I figured it might as well be something useful, considering my future career is likely weapon and armor smithing.  Every wise artist studies the greats."

Fyrenn reached up to his helmet, and tapped the microphone control.

"North Carolina; This is JRSF Gamma One Six Four, notifying you of arrival from stern starboard quarter."

There was a short pause as the ship's tracking officer established a connection, and verified Fyrenn's callsign code.

"Understood One Six Four.  Proceed to aft island level five catwalk for reception."

April shook her head, and exhaled slowly as the two Gryphons swooped in towards the side of the vessel.

"Wooow...  It's *beautiful.*"

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded.

"Yes, and heavily armored.  Not to mention highly sophisticated machine shops and medical facilities, which will suit our purposes well."

The group alit with a soft clank on the specified catwalk, and were immediately greeted by the sight of an Ensign making his way out of the nearest hatch.  The man dashed up a ladder, fired a quick salute, then shouted at Fyrenn to make himself heard over the thrum of the engine, and the roar of the spray and wind.

"SIR!  We don't have you on the day's arrival manifest!  The Captain wants to have a word!"

Fyrenn nodded, and gestured with one claw towards the nearest bulkhead access.

"Lead the way."





"Of all the possible places...  You brought your mess to *my* ship."

The bridge remained at a subdued volume for an uncomfortable moment.  The crew kept their eyes firmly fixed on their stations.  The air resonated softly with the combination of distant engine thrum, the white noise of the air vents, and the occasional flick of a switch or trill of a console.

April realized that the Captain's use of the word 'mess' encompassed her person along with Fyrenn's actions, and she scowled slightly.  Neyla noticed the reaction, and placed the edge of her wing around the child.

When Fyrenn spoke, his tone was dangerously devoid of emotion.

"Captain Orik, I have to ask you to mind your phrasing around April.  The situation is problematic, absolutely.  But that isn't her fault.  And she doesn't deserve to keep suffering because someone found a clever way to twist a law."

The Captain squinted, pinched the bridge of his nose, and exhaled slowly.

"Isaac...  Or do you go by something else now?"

Fyrenn inclined his head.

"I will gladly go by either, though my primary name is now Fyrenn."

Orik sighed, and held up a hand.

"Fyrenn, then.  It is one thing for you to ask me to offer medical assistance to someone in distress.  I'm not even beyond breaking a few rules to grant a minor asylum.  But I've been apprised of recent security dispatches."

The Captain locked eyes with the red Gryphon, and leveled one index finger firmly.

"This mess may not be her fault, but you sure as hell contributed to it.  You severely injured a fellow soldier this morning, you threatened the life of a seated Councilor, you've stolen a Schedule-0 substance...  And you want me to let you use my ship to commit an illegal Conversion?"

Orik paused, then threw up his hands.

"Would you even leave now?  If I asked you, let alone ordered you?  Or would you stave my skull in too?!  We called you 'Trigger' for a damn good reason, the way I see it."

Fyrenn kept an unblinking, smoldering gaze fixed on Orik, until the man was forced to look away.  Only then did the Gryphon speak.

"I served under you for three years.  And the Indy was a much smaller ship.  You know me, and you know I'll turn right around and go somewhere else if you ask, albeit with protest.  For your sake.  But I'm asking you, for *her* sake..."

The red Gryphon jabbed an index talon fiercely in April's direction.

"Please.  Give us the help, and the facilities we need to save her."

Another protracted silence ensued.  Orik glanced to the side, doing his best not to make eye contact with April, Neyla, or Fyrenn.  The latter finally split the calm with a window-rattling shout, that instantly drew the fearful attention of every crew member on the bridge.

"LOOK AT HER!  You look at what they did to this child, how they drilled into her SKULL, and laid open her SPINE!  You ask her how they killed her sister!  Who it is that is giving the orders!  What they WILL do to her if these implants stay in her!  You look her IN THE EYES when you deliver your refusal, or so help me I will MAKE you."

Orik finally turned, and settled his gaze on April.  The girl stared back, her face fixed in a firm scowl.  At last, the Captain sighed, running one hand reflexively across his quarter-inch thin military-cut hair.

"I'll permit this...  Insanity.  For two reasons.  First; You're right about one thing.  This girl has endured enough for one Human lifespan.  I think you're paranoid, and you've enfolded half the government into your little conspiracy theory, but the fact is, this child has been most seriously abused.  And second...  If I ask you to leave, I'll be putting more innocent soldiers at risk."

Fyrenn nodded, and turned to the chamber's rear hatch, expanding a protective wing to shepherd April and Neyla along.

Orik raised a hand, and inclined his head.

"I want to make it clear to you Lieutenant...  Inasmuch as I respect your good service under my command, and after, especially your most recent actions in Vancouver...  I will not stand by if you do any harm to a member of my crew.  And I want you off my ship the moment you're finished."

The red Gryphon nodded curtly, his tail swishing reflexively as he subsumed his riled spirit, gritting his beak tightly.

"So noted."





"Alright little one, this won't hurt at all.  Just shut your eyes for me and...  There we go!  Not too bad huh?"

April smiled slightly, and shook her head.  The Doctor stepped away from the biobed, and loaded the newly filled syringe into an upright piece of equipment.  Fyrenn glanced at the central display, and tilted his head.

"Forgive me Dr. Chandler, but why put her blood into a tomographic analysis chamber?"

The woman leaned in towards the screen, squinting to make out the myriad numbers and charts filling the panel.  She spoke absently as she brushed away a stray wisp of her short auburn hair.

"Because you said she had an aggressive parasitic nanoparticulate agent in her bloodstream.  If you want to put Potion into that mix, I think it would be best if we had a baseline understanding of what happens when the two conflicting groups of nanites meet."

Doctor Chandler rose, and extended a hand fearlessly.

"So.  I'll need just a few drops of your stolen goods."

There was an awkward silence, before Chandler laughed and waggled her fingers.

"Oh don't be so serious.  There's going to be plenty of time for that later.  I'm aware of the Captain's objections to this, and I'll have you know that I don't share them.  So come along now."

Fyrenn nodded, and silently produced the potion cylinder from his satchel.  Chandler reverently took the object, setting it on the work table carefully before withdrawing a few drops of the golden liquid into a hardened syringe.

"Right then.  Let's have a gander shall we..."

The Doctor swiftly dispensed the liquid into the imaging scanner, allowing it to mix with an equal amount of April's blood.  For the first tiny fraction of a second, nothing happened.  Then the screen exploded with data, most of it encoded in red or yellow tones that did little to ease Fyrenn and Neyla's concerns.

Chandler hissed, and sat back in her chair.

"That's not good news."

The woman gestured for Fyrenn and Neyla to come look at the information, gesticulating in an animated fashion as she did her best to translate the readouts into lay terms.

"The stuff in her body is mostly comprised of military grade hardware.  Now, normally Potion can overpower virtually anything, including military attack nanites...  And that's true here as well.  The difference is, these are part of her.  The Potion can't, and won't, convert the technological objects, so it attacks and destroys them.  And it would probably take ninety percent of her cells along with them."

Neyla narrowed her eyes, and shook her head slowly.

"Are there any options, in your professional opinion, for separating the nanites from her cells?"

Chandler sat silently, tapping one finger on her lip as she considered her response carefully.  Finally, she nodded, and sighed.

"There are several chemical concoctions that can temporarily separate nanites from cells and leave them free-floating.  But, and I stress that conjunction...  In this case that would be obscenely dangerous.  These devices are likely programmed to do anything and everything necessary to protect their status quo, and failing that?  They'll likely do their best rendition of a lunatic jihadist."

Fyrenn glowered at the screen, and hissed softly.

"They'd eat her alive just to prevent their own removal."

Chandler nodded, and inclined her head slightly.

"Oh that's not even the best bit.  To give her any chance of surviving the procedure, you'd also have to allow me to surgically cut away ninety percent of her spinal and cranial implants before the change."

The Doctor winced reflexively, and steepled her hands as she carefully re-examined the data on the imaging scanner.

"That's a five to nine hour procedure.  And we would have to begin the nano-separation and damping process first.  That means she would be in absolutely critical condition by the time the serum is injected.  There's no guarantee her body can withstand those types of stresses in that span of time.  And even then, there's no guarantee we can keep the nanites at-bay long enough for the serum to destroy them and expel the excess matter."

"I want to try."

April's voice brought a sudden pause to the conversation.  Chandler, and the Gryphons, turned slowly to fix their eyes on the child.  April sat on the biobed, legs clutched to her chest, eyes riveted to the display screen.

"I want to be free.  One way or the other."

Doctor Chandler licked her lips nervously, and rose from her chair, kneeling in front of April and taking the girl's hands in hers.

"April...  You're not even old enough to make this kind of decision, from a legal standpoint at any rate.  This is very serious.  The chances of you surviving are dangerously, incredibly, indescribably slim.  One in three hundred at best."

April leaned down, and a familiar sad smile darted across her face.  Fyrenn again found himself verging on tears as he thought about the vast discrepancy between her biological age, and her maturity.

"One in three hundred is better than zero.  I would rather go where my sister went, than go on like this anymore.  Freedom of any kind is better than my chances if I have to stay this way."

Doctor Chandler's eyes welled up with a small flood of tears, that threatened to stream down her face and ruin her professional air at any moment.  She bit her lip, and nodded, squeezing April's hands firmly before rising.

"I need about half an hour to do final number crunching, prep equipment, get scrubbed, and brief my nurses.  The best thing you can do is hydrate her, and calm her.  But no solid foods."

Both Gryphons nodded, and Fyrenn scooped up April into a carry position on his back.

"Thank you doctor."

Chandler shook her head, wiping furtively at both eyes with the sleeve of her lab coat.

"Don't thank me.  Not for something like this.  Not unless, by some miracle, it works."





"Are you sure about this?"

Fyrenn finally decided that the silence had gone on long enough.  His words hung in the air like the spray from the ship's bow, dispersing into a fine mist that covered the body in a hazy film.

April spoke without turning, her eyes fixed firmly on the blue sky beyond the Barrier, seemingly so close, yet somehow so very far away.

"As sure as I have ever been about anything.  No question."

The red Gryphon sighed, and shifted, uncrossing his forelegs and then re-crossing them.  His perch on the starboard lookout wing offered him a stunning view of sky and sea for miles in every direction.  April seemed equally entranced, leaning back into the crook of his shoulder and propping her shoes up against the railing as the breeze toyed with her hair.

Fyrenn sighed, and scratched the back of his head absently as he struggled to find words he felt would have the right impact.

"One in three hundred is long odds April.  You're alive right now, and you can stay that way for the foreseeable future.  Are you really prepared to leave all this behind?  I'm not sure I could handle losing you at this point..."

The girl shook her head, and wrapped one arm comfortingly around Fyrenn's neck.

"I'm not afraid to fight.  I've lived a fighter's life since I was born.  I'm not sure I even want that to change.  But I've also been something else, ever since I could remember.  A slave.  *That* I can't go on doing.  I'm not afraid to die either.  And you should know better than to think that I'm any more invincible than you are you big red bean bag."

Fyrenn snorted, and raised an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side to make eye contact.

"Did Stan teach you that one?"

She grinned and shook her head.

"Skye did.  She also told me that you have real trouble with trust."

The red Gryphon sighed, and shook his head slowly.

"No argument there.  But you should take everything 'Auntie Skye' and 'Uncle Stan' say with a grain of salt.  They think they can fix decades of bad memories and fears with a wave of a hoof and a few strong words."

April shrugged, and nestled down into Fyrenn's feathers as she murmured her response.

"We all have to start somehow don't we?"

Another lull in the conversation followed.  The pair sat contentedly, watching the clouds form, move, and dissolve as they passed across the achingly blue canvass of Equestria's sky.  The humidity was low, and it was late in the afternoon.  The combination lent the atmosphere a gilt quality, and incredibly sharp clarity.

Fyrenn privately wished he could ferry April across right then, if only to give her the guaranteed chance to experience fresh sea wind, tinged with the scent of palms and coconut.

Neyla arrived in relative silence, with large mugs of steaming coffee for herself and Fyrenn, and an enormous glass of water for April.

The Gryphoness flopped down directly alongside Fyrenn, cozying up as close as she could and allowing April to shift, splitting her weight between the two Gryphons.  Fyrenn briefly considered protesting, but instantly clamped his beak shut.

He realized that the moment was precious, in a sublime way.  He wanted to put his fears and concerns, bitterness and worry, aside.  If only for a moment.  He wanted to take solace in the way the moment represented a future, if only a barely-possible one.

Neyla and April seemed perfectly content to do the same, and the remaining fifteen minutes passed like a blur.  Thought fell away into emotion, and anxiousness into the sensations of the moment.  Warm feathers, soft breathing, a stiff breeze, and the ever-present thrum of the engines.

The flow was, however, finally shattered by the crackle of the ship's intercom.

"Lieutenant Commander Wrenn, and party, to the Medical bay.  Lieutenant Commander Wrenn, please report to the medical bay with guests."





The medical bay was completely dim, except for a pool of intensely bright directionless light focused on a single surgical bed.  Surrounding the object was an immense bevy of medical instruments contained on carts or suspended on armatures connected to a ring in the ceiling.

Doctor Chandler stood flanked by two nurses, all clad in fully biophobic scrubs, gloves, and masks.  The material glistened with a faint teal hexagonal pattern as it shifted and caught the light.

The Doctor gestured to the biobed, and Fyrenn set April down carefully, face turned towards the floor.  The supply cabinet had yielded a set of medical gowns, and Fyrenn had carefully cut one to size.  Neyla had helped April into the coarse blue fabric, and cut a slit from her neck to her navel, to afford access to her spinal implant.

Chandler knelt beside April, and pulled down one of the medical instruments from the vertical armatures.  The device looked like a clear glass cradle, shaped to fit around a head.

"The nanites will resist sedatives.  So I have to place you in an electromagnetically induced coma before we begin.  It will feel like going to sleep, so just breathe normally, close your eyes, and let everything slip away."

April glanced up at Fyrenn, and blinked nervously.

"Will I dream?  Like everyone else?"

Fyrenn smiled, forcing his tears to remain in check until he could turn away.

"Absolutely.  It will be the most wonderful sleep you've ever had."

April nodded, and exhaled slowly.

"I'm ready."

Doctor Chandler nodded, and gently affixed the cradle to April's head, closing it until it had just enough tension to remain connected.  The device whirred to life, emitting a soft blue-green light from within the glass itself.

Almost instantly, April's eyes closed, and her breathing slowed.  Fyrenn watched the holographic data suspended behind her, as her heart rate and EEG began to reflect deep REM sleep patterns.

Chandler glanced between the two Gryphons, and gestured to the door.

"You two...  May not want to watch this.  It's going to be very unpleasant."

Both Gryphons remained silently fixated on April, and the Doctor shrugged.

"Suit yourselves."

As she turned to the first tray of instruments, Fyrenn finally allowed his tears free reign.  Only after chancing a glance in Neyla's direction did he realize she was also silently, motionlessly weeping.

The Doctor gestured to an enormous IV-Drip cylinder.

"Inject the separating agent.  Start with about five CCs and move on up to eleven per minute by twos every minute."

One of the nurses nodded, and swiftly set about swabbing a location beside April's carotid, where maximum blood flow would be afforded to the needle.  With the machine set, and the needle implanted and clamped, the man flicked the activation switch.

April's vitals went wild instantly, and her body began to convulse aggressively.  Chandler swooped down on her cabinet of syringes, not even bothering to waste time on voicing orders.

Without being asked, Fyrenn and Neyla darted forward, and helped the nurses clamp April's sides, ankles, wrists, and neck into place with steel fins, coated internally with a skin-soothing gel.

Chandler bent over the IV cylinder, and released an enormous dosage of a dull orange substance into the mix, twisting the delivery-proportions settings up to their physical maximum.

For a few seconds, April's convulsions worsened.

Then, gradually but steadily, her vital signs began to normalize to a survivable range, if only barely.  Fyrenn winced as he noted that her internal temperature had spiked to nearly one hundred and four degrees.

Chandler gestured to a small box with two cylinders recessed into it, as the Gryphons stepped back into the shadows.

"Set up the intermixer to throughput a pint of blood every fifteen minutes.  Put the cooling setting on seventy five percent, and use the electrified stints to weed out as many of the nanites as we can."

One of the nurses began setting up another pair of clamped needles, while the other stood ready to hand Chandler instruments, and utilize the sweat-cloth.

The Doctor exhaled sharply, readjusted her gloves, and pointed to April's hair.

"Shaver."

In a matter of moments, the Doctor had efficiently lopped off every last one of April's locks, while one of the nurses dutifully vacuumed up the biological detritus to avoid complications later in the operation.

As soon as Chandler was finished, she removed her gloves, discarded them in a one-way-pressurized waste bin, and pulled on a new pair.

She paused to bring her breathing under control, then held out a hand.

"Plasma cutter."





Councilor Loryss sighed, and straightened her jacket as her chauffeur closed the rear door of the sedan.  While the man made his way to the front seat, under the watchful eye of her interim protection agent, she depressed the console key to raise the soundproof glass between her compartment, and the front of the car.

As the vehicle peeled away from the curb, into the Manhattan dusk, she carefully removed her secure DaTab from her purse, and opened a familiar communication line.

"Admiral.  Status?"

The male voice on the opposite end of the call was gruff, businesslike, and had good enunciation.  Loryss always appreciated the man's talent for candor.

"Ma'am.  We're nearly ready for our first full combat trials.  The last of the warheads were loaded just about half an hour ago, and my chief engineer says the fusion plant has passed all final marks."

Loryss nodded firmly, and pursed her lips as she spoke.

"There has been a change in plans.  I will be sending you a combat contingent, and two Earthgov legal executors.  They will provide coordinates for your first mission.  You will ferry them to the location, and provide fire support as necessary."

"Fire support ma'am?"

The Councilor nodded firmly, despite the fact that the connection was voice-only due to the level of encryption being used.

"If the team is unsuccessful in their mission, the provided objectives packet will instruct you on appropriate 'disposal measures.'  Are we clear?"

"Yes Ma'am.  Agincourt will get the job done.  Any way you slice it."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 2nd, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn ducked to avoid a splitting headache as he made his way into the medical bay, carafes of tea clamped firmly in either claw.

He passed one to Neyla, and stared long and hard at April's prone form as he took his first draught.

"They were out of coffee for tonight.  Apparently they ration it fairly strictly.  This will have to do."

Neyla nodded, and grunted as she took a scalding massive gulp from her impromptu tankard.

"Nothing has changed while you were gone.  Chandler had to take another breather...  I fear the length of this process is starting to take a serious toll."

Fyrenn inclined his head, and sighed.

"If she pulls this off, there is absolutely no way I can conceive of to repay her."

Neyla shook her head, and began pacing slowly.

"She would say that seeing April survive would be repayment enough.  If she were not honorable, she would never have consented to this."

Fyrenn inclined his head, and took another long draught of his tea.

"True enough."

He shook his head slowly as Chandler began to whittle away at April's spinal implant once more.  In the ten hours since the procedure had begun, Chandler had been forced to stop eleven times to hydrate and rest, had paused to remove the cranial implants, and had been forced to step down from a plasma cutter to a tiny diamond-tipped saw.

As sparks flew from the edge of the device, Fyrenn said his thousandth fervent prayer that the cutting phase would be over soon.

Though April's internal temperature had stabilized to a more manageable one hundred, her cognitive activity had steadily begun to decline.  Chandler speculated that the nanites were starting to physically damage her brain.  She had privately informed Fyrenn that if the levels dropped low enough, even the Conversion process itself might not bring April out of her coma.

And that was assuming she survived the physical trauma.  Fyrenn suspected, given Neyla's mood, that she had overheard the conversation.

He gestured with one claw as a new series of sparks flew, while Chandler forced the diamond saw deeper into the titanium casing of the implant.

"You know she thinks of you as a mother."

Neyla nodded silently, looking as if she might be verging on further tears.

Fyrenn moved to stand alongside her, and did his best to offer up a tiny sliver of a cold half-smile.

"Had you ever wanted fledglings?  Before this?"

Neyla sniffed, and waggled a claw.

"Yes, and no.  The young are a marvelous blessing.  And I have always felt that I'd want fledglings someday...  But I suppose we're alike, in that the idea of a mate always seemed so far removed."

Fyrenn sighed, and nodded.

"I can't begin to apologize enough for my part in that."

Neyla raised an eyebrow.

"You could, but that would require you to do something far outside your current comfort zone.  Still, I have my dreams, and I won't be so easily parted from them."

Fyrenn inclined his head and snorted softly.

"Well, we all seem to be in the business of miracles these days.  'Miracles are a retelling in small letters of the very same story which is written across the whole world in letters too large for some of us to see.' "

Neyla tilted her head in curiosity, and Fyrenn offered up another sliver of a smile as he explained.

"Lewis.  Brilliant author.  Though I think even he would be astounded to see the things we see every day..."

The Gryphoness sighed, and leaned against Fyrenn's side.

"As miracles may go, this one seems like a difficult task.  Not every part of the plan can be a miraculous escape."

Chandler sighed as she crossed the room, yanking off her mask and wiping away a veritable downpour of sweat from her forehead.

"No, but as this particular miracle goes, it looks like one hurdle is past.  I was able to cut out ninety percent of the cortical nodes, and seventy five percent of the spinal implant.  If you ever find the people who did this?  I want you to wring their necks for me.  Wring 'em damn good.  This device is absolutely barbaric in every measurable sense.  I had to slice within a nanometer of her spinal nerve cluster to get some of those spicules out."

Fyrenn nodded towards the potion.

"So it's time?"

Chandler shook her head.

"As much as I want to say 'Do it as fast as we can,' her physical survivability chances will double if we wait fifteen minutes before administering."

Neyla jerked her head towards the EEG readout.

"And the damage to her mind?"

Chandler exhaled in exhaustion and frustration, her gaze falling to the floor.

"I won't lie.  That damage may already be utterly irreparable.  We...  Just don't know enough about how potion works with the brain and, well for lack of better terminology, the soul.  I've heard stories of it curing Alzheimer's patients in ways that are frankly impossible, if you subscribe to the idea that a person's identity and self is wholly attached to their brain tissue."

The Doctor shook her head and blinked

"And I've also heard stories of it making someone, otherwise healthy, into a vegetable due to a tiny inoperable benign tumor that wasn't caught beforehand.  There's still a strong risk her body will dissolve under stress, but the real killer now is going to be the battle going on in here."

Chandler tapped her forehead, and sighed once more.

"I'm going to go find something cold and nutritious to drink, use the head, and try to stop shaking.  We'll meet back here in fifteen for the administering process."





"I hear it's going as well as could have been expected."

Fyrenn kept his eyes on the tea maker, recognizing Orik's voice without any need for visual confirmation.  The man stepped up to the break room table and began pouring himself a cup of the steaming drink as well.  He snorted as he glanced up at Fyrenn, and shook his head.

"You want to explain to me how your six foot eleven, two-forty pound former CO has to look *up* at you now?"

The red Gryphon sighed, and swiveled his head to the left to meet the man's eyes.

"I guess I just grew out of my awkward Human phase."

Orik smiled wanly, and sighed, taking a sip of his brew before replying.

"Funny.  Nice to see your sense of humor is about the same as it was."

Fyrenn sat back on his haunches, bringing his eyes closer to Orik's level, and took a long sip of his own before speaking again.

"So what will you do when they find out we were here?"

The Captain shrugged, and leaned against the bulkhead, blowing the steam from the top of his mug between words.

"I'll tell them the truth, and nothing but the truth.  That I felt I had little choice, for a multitude of both moral, logistical, and safety reasons."

His eyes flashed upwards to meet Fyrenn's gaze, a sudden glint of iron tinging his expression as he put voice to a pointed query.

"What about you?  They'll probably revoke your citizenship.  Demote you.  Dishonorable discharge to boot."

Fyrenn snorted, and massaged the sides of his carafe, giving himself a moment to sort out his feeling before speaking.

"You know?  I used to think that maybe I would spend more time on Earth, than in Equestria.  Keep my commission right up until the end.  Keep a claw in the soup.  Fight the 'good fight.'  Maybe even stick with special ops."

Orik raised an eyebrow, and indulged in a long, slow draught as the red Gryphon continued, a harder edge creeping into his tone as he shifted his gaze to one of the mess hall's portholes.

"I gave more than I can easily put into words for this planet.  I did it because I wanted to save lives, and make the future better.  Nothing more or less complicated than that...  But it turns out that simple goals have long and winding roads.  I've watched the same people I fought and bled for defy all common sense, and good moral standing, time and again.  And the ones who were supposed to watch out for us?  To lead by example?  To bring the common sense to the masses?  To keep people like you and me in check, and to make the right calls in the tough spots?"

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, and snapped his gaze back to Orik as he finished the thought.  He casually noted the changes in the man's blood pressure, skin tension, and general bearing.  Automatic fight or flight responses triggered by the angry gaze of a much larger, sharper, faster creature.

"Those leaders are the same people who pulled the trigger on millions of their own people.  How else did the HLF get access to the assets, codes, schedules, and systems they needed to pull a stunt like Vancouver?  These 'leaders' of ours...  People I risked my life to save not that long ago, are sanctioning child soldiers.  Juvenile cybernetic experimentation.  State-sponsored terror cells."

Orik inclined his head, and averted his eyes, "Fyrenn...  We live in a complicated world.  Old fashioned ideals and hardline morals don't feed billions of people on a dying planet."

Fyrenn's gaze hardened further, and he slammed the carafe down on the steel countertop, hard enough to leave a substantial dent.

"Ah, yes.  And brutalizing children, funding pro-Human Nazis, assassinating dissenting leaders, pushing through a Conversion program that enslaved people to Troll packs, trying to tax people for fleeing a natural disaster, legislating people's private love lives to try to force them to Convert...  That has done *such* a bang-up job of ending poverty, homelessness, forced displacement, violence, and desperation.  Bra-fucking-vo.  The Human race is saved.  All hail the glorious savior Earthgov."

The Captain set down his own mug with surprising force, and his face scrunched into an angry leer.

"That's treasonous propagandist bullshit, and you know it.  Earthgov built this planet back after the Winnowing, and who do you think holds that all together at the end of the day?  Sure as hell isn't crusaders like you.  It is people who can see the difference between what serves some high and mighty sense of justice, and the right calls.  The ones that keep the gears greased, and the world spinning."

Fyrenn hissed.  The sound brought Orik up short, even more so as it devolved into a sickly rustling sardonic laugh.

"You know, I used to be just that stupid.  Hell, I almost died to save a man whose value to society is probably a net negative, over an issue that he and I were both dead wrong about.  You know what I figured out, somewhere between the Conversion table, and today?  If Humanity is so hot-damn awesome and incredible, and our neoliberal neocapitalist imperial one-world state is so glitter-pissing amazing, how come a third of Humans live below the poverty line?  How come we have homelessness in a post-singularity world where we can produce enough food, housing, medicine, and basic goods and services to accommodate the transient visiting population of another whole-ass universe?"

Fyrenn rose to his hind legs, snatched up the tea carafe, and crossed the mess hall to the aft exit hatch in glowering silence.  Orik stood rooted to the spot, unable to fully process the adrenaline response born of Fyrenn's tirade.

The red Gryphon tossed a final word over one shoulder as he ducked through the hatch.

"Did you ever once question the orders we were given?  The specific lives we were taking?  Did you ever stop to think that the HLF and the PER wouldn't even exist if there weren't people in the world who we hurt so badly, who felt so disowned and disinvited from the conversation just for having a different viewpoint, that they felt the risks of going up against a fifty trillion dollar military were worth it to salvage their sad, gray, purposeless lives?  The hard truth is this, Orik;  We were nothing but a cattle prod to keep the masses in-line.  I don't do oppression for a career anymore."





"Moment of truth."

Chandler raised an eyebrow, and offered the syringe to Fyrenn.

"It's simple.  If you want to do the honors.  Just place the applicator right beside her carotid, in the neck, and depress the button."

Fyrenn nodded, and lowered his head, closing his eyes.  Neyla did the same.  It took Chandler several awkward moments to realize that the Gryphons were praying, before she abruptly yanked off her surgical cap in embarrassment.

At last, Fyrenn looked up, and carefully seated the hypo-spray in the correct position.

"Hang on.  Just for a little while longer.  Hang on tight."

With a sudden, and slightly anticlimactic hiss, the golden fluid disappeared into the girl's veins.  Fyrenn withdrew the medical instrument, and took a step back.

April's restraints had been removed, and her biobed reconfigured to fit the potential changes about to engulf her body.  A variety of medical instruments stood ready.  Some to help suck away the remains of the implants and nanites, others to potentially clean up the horrendous mess of a Conversion gone wrong.

Fyrenn realized, with a jolt, that this would be the first time he, or Neyla, had ever watched a Gryphonization occur.

He had, like all Converts, been unconscious for his own procedure, and Neyla had not known him at the time.  Even if she had, people rarely decided to willingly watch the process.  It was considered to be both highly private, and incredibly unsettling.

Sildinar and Kephic had been closest to Fyrenn, and they had been separated from him by a wall at the time.

At first nothing seemed to be happening.  In spite of the fact that Chandler had given April a dose nearly three times as potent as the normal small white cup of fluid, that didn't seem to cause faster onset.

Gradually, however, Fyrenn began to notice flecks of golden light racing up and down April's veins.

The patterns began to spread, and to glow more and more brightly, eventually setting April's entire skin alight with dancing patterns like fire.

As Fyrenn and Neyla watched, prayed, and willed the process to go smoothly, April's body began to change in more extreme ways.  Initially Fyrenn found himself resisting a strong urge to look away.  The melting effect reminded him too much of Sonya's fate for his liking.

April's form gradually, but steadily, dissolved away into something more akin to a glowing mass of biomatter, constrained by a sparking aura of orange and yellow aurorae.  As the last of her definable Human features slipped away, the mass began to grow, drawing new matter from the immense energy compacted into the potion for just that purpose.

At the very moment it seemed April would be reduced to a formless blob, the process shifted violently.  Arcs of golden energy shot out from the central mass, forming the ethereal shapes of a body.  Legs.  Wings.  A head, and a tail.

As Fyrenn watched, transfixed and now utterly unable to look aside, or even blink, the process apexed towards its inevitable conclusion.

Sprays of fine gray matter began to pour away from the energy field, and as one of the Nurses began to vacuum away the debris before it could fall back, Fyrenn realized it was the last remains of the nanites and implants, reduced to pure base carbon dust and violently ejected.

As the biomatter finally took shape, details began to emerge swiftly.  With an unexpected snap, and a series of electrical arcs so bright Chandler and the nurses were forced to look to the side, the process reached an end.

Where once had lain a viscous shape with barely-emerging features, now lay a living, breathing, whole being.

At first, the shock of taking in the sight left Fyrenn unable to move or speak.

April's form was sleek, and beautiful, yet retained hints of her young age in the structure of her head, and the preponderance of inner fledgling downy feathers that lent her a slightly softer quality than a fully grown member of the species.

Many of her markings were a shade of red not dissimilar to Fyrenn's autumnal burgundy shades.  They seemed the tiniest bit more orange to his eye.  The color covered the top of her head, comprised some cheek markings, and ran down her back and sides, and over the majority of her wings.

The outer edge of her wings was given over to a blue shade that was very much like Neyla's primary color.  The rest of the fledgling's body was covered in a light shade of tan that looked as if it might be related to Neyla's, but Fyrenn detected as many red and brown undertones as white and gray.

At last, he finally managed words.

"She looks...  Like...  Us?"

Chandler nodded.

"I thought you knew?  Because of the way your species reproduces, genetic information gets passed from nearby members of your kind to new converts during the process, based on the type and strength of the bond between the subject and the observers."

There was a long pause, which the Doctor broke by exhaling, and ultimately opting to resort to simpler terms.

"She is, judging by her markings, essentially genetically descended from both of you, for the most part.  Her own discarded Human genes also played some role in forming the new ones, as always."

Fyrenn was, yet again, grateful for his red facial covering.  He could see Neyla blushing furiously, and knew that he was likely just as red underneath his cheek feathers.

The emotion passed swiftly however, as the two older Gryphons stepped up to the biobed, and examined April more closely.  Biologically, she seemed to be in perfect health.  Her feathers were clean and straight, her talons sharp and perfectly formed, and her beak pristine.

Her life signs on the holographic display indicated a normal pulse, respiration, blood pressure, and temperature for an adolescent female Gryphon, in peak healthy condition.

The EEG however seemed unable to fixate in any meaningful way on a useful reading.  Fyrenn knew that was likely a product of Gryphons' complex tachyonic nervous system.  What truly concerned him was the fact that April had neither stirred, nor shown any signs of cogence, in almost a minute and a half.

He reached down, and gently shook one of the fledgling's newly minted shoulders, but there was no response, not even a reflex.

He glanced up to Doctor Chandler, but the woman merely shook her head slowly.

"Honestly, I can't say what comes next.  Obviously this isn't a conventional Conversion, so there is no context for me to make a judgement call.  The best I can do is say that you may as well give it a few hours."

Fyrenn winced, and sighed, as his stomach erupted into a familiar morasse of pain, fear, anger, frustration, and general anxiety.

"So much for sleep."
> Chapter 47
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 2nd, Gregorian Calendar

The medical bay was absolutely silent, save for the sound of three breathing Gryphons, the hiss of the air vents, and the quiet chirp of April's biosign monitors.

Though no ambient external light could reach into the medbay, Fyrenn's internal clock knew that it was mid-morning, and was making no attempt at hiding its displeasure.  He had found his soreness, and exhaustion, relatively easy to ignore for several hours, but at last, they had caught up with him in full.

Neyla had long since fallen into a fitful sleep, having pushed a second biobed alongside April's, and lain down with one wing covering the fledgling.

Fyrenn had tried to keep himself awake with a half-sitting half-kneeling position at April's bedside.  He had talked to her, sung for an hour, and spent most of the time bouncing back and forth between uncontrolled weeping, fervent prayer, and total abject lockdown.

Sleep itself had withheld its good graces, but he had finally collapsed into a doze-like state with his tear-soaked face lain out on the biobed next to April.

Somewhere deep down, his half-awake brain knew that the point of no return had come and gone hours previously.  But the rest of him was firmly set on remaining in a dazed stupor, so he wouldn't have to face that fact as a true reality.

He sighed deeply, and allowed the tears to flow once more.  His body and mind had passed well beyond the stage of a bone-wracking cry, and into the mortified, chilling, burning silence of pure and simple loss.

At first, the red Gryphon missed the movement.  He had to raise his head, and play it back in his memory several times before the moment fully imprinted itself on his consciousness.

But as he finally came around to the realization, his beak fell open.  April tossed first one way, then the other, gasped fervently, then yawned.

And then her eyes flew open.

"Am I---?"

Fyrenn didn't even wait for her to finish the sentence.  Before she could even begin to adjust to her new senses, April found herself swept up into the tightest embrace of her life, cradled in Fyrenn's forelegs, and wings, against his chest.

The uncontrolled wracking sobs returned abruptly, albeit for precisely the opposite reasons.

Fyrenn found himself unable to even form words, he simply babbled incoherently as he held April as close to him as he could, burying her in his chest and neck and cheek and wings.  By and by, Neyla became aware of the commotion.

It took the Gryphoness several seconds to fully understand what she was seeing, before she collapsed into the group hug, enveloping both Fyrenn and April in her wings with absolute abandon.

Slowly but surely tears of joy turned to laughter, and laughter to giggles.  April sneezed, and the gesture sent all three Gryphons into absolute fits of mirth.  The noise brought a Corpsman in from the corridor, who abruptly dashed out and went to notify Chandler.

At long last, after what seemed like hours of laughing, and crying, and rolling around on the floor like cats with string, the three Gryphons managed to achieve upright standing positions.

April stumbled slightly as she got her legs under her, and Fyrenn reached out to steady her, wiping tears from his eyes.

"It really helps if you don't think about it.  Focus on something else, like a song or a rhyme, and let the new instincts overwrite the old ones."

April giggled, and beamed.  Seeing the expression on her face, now transformed, almost brought Fyrenn to tears again.

"I feel like I've been sleeping funny.  All pins and needles.  It tickles!"

Fyrenn nodded, and gestured to a wall chronometer.

"You were under for the better part of fifteen hours total.  We were afraid you weren't going to come back..."

April tilted her head, and her ears flattened slightly in an expression of confusion.

"I did have a dream, just like you said...  But it was kinda different to the way you described.  At first, there was just a bunch of streets and alleyways.  I was lost inside them.  But another nice Gryphon came and helped me out.  Then I dreamed about lots of other Gryphons, and beautiful places..."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and his tail swished as a feeling of intense deja vu burst into his chest.

"This other Gryphon...  What was he like?"

April smiled.

"He sounded a little like you.  But he was all gold...  Except for blue bits around his nose and cheeks."

Neyla blinked, and then blinked again, before shooting Fyrenn a glance equal parts stunned shock, and concern.

Fyrenn waved a claw dismissively, suppressing his questions and concerns for April's sake.  He pulled the fledgling close to him with his right wing, and sighed deeply.

"It's fine.  What matters is that in the end, you did come back."

April beamed once more, stretching her wings experimentally.

"So can I fly?"

Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head.

"You're old enough, and your instincts are strong...  But trust me.  You want to get the hang of the legs first."

April's stomach growled loudly, and she giggled once more.

"I want to eat the biggest breakfast *EVER* before I even think about legs and wings."

Neyla nodded, and grinned.

"Aye, and perhaps get a good day's exercise and a good night's sleep first."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow and his eyes widened.

"Exercise?  Absolutely not, I am going to go share that breakfast, then I'm going to pass out and do my best to not have night terrors."

April's beak turned down, and her wings drooped.

Fyrenn sighed, and exhaled slowly.

"Fine.  Exercise.  Running and leaping and praising God, and all that lovely stuff...  But at bare minimum I want about four gallons of joe, and a two hundred degree shower, can you spare me for *that* long?"

April winked, and took a halting step towards the hatchway, splaying her wings for balance.

"I suppose.  But it'll cost you."

Neyla chuckled, and nudged Fyrenn with one wing.

"She gets that from you."

The red Gryphon groaned, and shoved Neyla with his right wing.





"Let me see, let me see!"

Skye jostled for a position at the table, finally managing to squeeze between Kephic and Hutch to get a glimpse of the DaTab.

The Unicorn let out something midway between a squeal, and a gale of laughter as she finally saw the image on the screen.  Fyrenn had sent nothing save for the image, in order to avoid the need for complex encryption.

The picture had obviously started out as a group shot of Fyrenn, Neyla, and the newly fledged April, taken by an unknown volunteer in what looked to be a ship's mess hall.  The intention of a smiling steady group-shot had somehow deteriorated just a moment before the image was taken.

Instead, the photographer had ended up with a picture of April midway through the act of pilfering one of Fyrenn's meat strips from his plate.  The red Gryphon had just noticed, and set about batting the fledgling away gently with one wing, also unintentionally delivering a sound smack to Neyla in the process.  

The Gryphoness was on the verge of simply boxing Fyrenn's ears with her own wings, and all three Gryphons were clearly laughing as hard as they ever had in their lives.

Carradan chortled, and shook his head slowly.

"I want prints."

Kephic, Hutch, and Aston seemed content to simply smile and enjoy the moment of triumph in relative silence.  Even Varan's normally stoic features seemed radiant, in their own way.

"So this is what he meant."

The new voice brought every head in the group around sharply.  The sight of the owner resulted in more smiles, mixed with raised eyebrows and tilted heads.

Hutch rose, and extended a hand warmly.

"Sildinar?  Not that I'm ever sorry to see you...  But what are you doing here?"

The roan Gryphon took Hutch's arm in his equivalent of a handshake, before doing the same with Kephic and Varan, then offering Carradan a hoof-to-claw bump.  He flashed Aston a smile of vague recognition, and even found time for a brief hug at Skye's insistence, before responding to the question.

"He didn't tell you?  Fyrenn had a missive delivered to me.  It was sent some time yesterday morning and arrived by special courier overnight.  The tone was exceedingly urgent, so I departed at once.  He said he was about to do something that would potentially have vast and troubling legal implications, and he wanted my help and support...  Now I think I'm beginning to understand."

Hutch sighed, and gestured to the table, as the group spread out and resumed their usual seating arrangement, making room for the new arrival.

"I think we'd best bring you up to speed.  We have good news...  And bad news.  And more bad news.  But I suppose I'd better start from the top..."





"Oh no you *don't!*"

April scowled as Fyrenn skidded to the side, snapped open his wings, and allowed his momentum to lift him several feet off the deck, and well out of her reach.

Her words echoed up and down the hangar as she snapped open her own wings, and made a brave, if slightly ill-advised, attempt at powered flight.  The red and tan fledgling made an excellent showing of her attempt, rising swiftly up to deliver a resounding 'THWACK' to Fyrenn's side with one claw.

"Gotcha!"

To her credit, April did not panic when she began to descend once more, instead waggling her wings carefully to guide her body into a gentle spiral, and an amazingly soft landing.

Fyrenn alighted on the steel plating beside her, and grinned widely.  A few of the night-shift maintenance workers stopped to offer a round of applause, before returning cheerfully to their equipment.

Fyrenn hugged April to his side briefly with one wing.

"That was very good!  Fantastic control!  And you didn't overthink it for even a second.  You're going to master flying very quickly."

April smiled, and flopped down into a recumbent position, resting her head on crossed forelegs as she spoke, and fought back an enormous yawn.

"Well...  I don't see how I could overthink it.  Even a short glide...  It's as if being free were made into something you could reach out and touch.  It's more than anything I'd ever imagined!"

Before Fyrenn had a chance to respond, he spied Neyla's head peeking up through a nearby access hatch.  He beckoned with one claw, and chuckled.

"I see we lost you at Charlie-Fifteen.  Did the knee-knockers get you?"

The Gryphoness plastered a mock scowl to her face, and leapt effortlessly onto the wing of a parked Scythe, draping herself over the silvery alloy in a pose similar to April's.

"Humans are bad at designing corridors.  They are all far too small, too gray, and they are exhausting to traverse at-speed."

Fyrenn chuckled, and stretched, letting out an enormous yawn of his own as he extended his forelegs, wings, and back legs, in careful sequence.

"Say what you will.  I think the real issue here is that it has been far too long since we saw the backs of our eyelids.  I think we must have run about eleven miles of corridors, not even counting the vertical distances."

April finally allowed herself a yawn as well, and nodded slowly.

"So we get a good night's sleep.  Then what?"

Fyrenn carefully lowered himself onto his haunches, and sighed contentedly.

"Then we do a few practice rounds over the bow, where the wind will give you good lift.  Hopefully we can leave tomorrow, make a brief stop-over in Manhattan to get the rest of the group, and then we'll go as far as you can manage in a day's flight."

April's face lit up, and the words seemed to fill her with a sudden new rush of energy.  She rose, and began loping in circles around Fyrenn, continuing to practice her leg movements as she spoke.

"You mean we're going to Equestria?!"

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded.

"Yes.  We're---"

The sentence was cut short by a soft alert tone, and an abrupt change in the ambient lighting.  Fyrenn stiffened, and perked one ear as the ship's public address system came online.

"General quarters.  General quarters.  All hands to action stations."

Fyrenn's instincts told him that the situation was no mere drill, nor simple misunderstanding.  His veins seemed to fill with an ice cold wash of anxiety and defensive impetus, as if some sort of monstrous presence had entered the room.

He glanced first at April, then up at Neyla.

"Stay together.  The Armory is on deck six, bulkhead Echo-Three.  After that, go to the centerline of the hull, deck seven, bulkhead Delta-Four; enlisted crew compartment.  It's the safest place on the ship."

As the red Gryphon took off down the hangar deck, towards the nearest access ladder, April called out after him.

"Where are you going?!"

Fyrenn paused, turned, and flashed a comforting smile.

"I'm just gonna make sure whatever we've run across gets the...  'Attention' it deserves."





The bridge was alive with an air of palpable tension, and bustling focused activity.

Fyrenn made his way directly to the center of the long ovoid space, and pulled up short beside Captain Orik.  The man kept his gaze fixed on the forward windows and their embedded holo display, but spoke softly from the side of his mouth.

"Unknown surface contact just appeared on short-range LADAR.  About twenty seconds later, a swick hydrofoil appeared on scope.  It's closing directly on our position, broadcasting an Earthgov priority IFF."

Orik straightened his jacket reflexively, and directed his gaze towards the communications officer.

"Comm, patch my headset through to local broadcast frequencies."

The woman nodded curtly, and tapped several elements of her interface as she responded.

"Patching you through on all official local channels.  You are live sir."

The Captain tapped the transmit key on his earpiece, and riveted his eyes once more to the LADAR scope.

"Unknown small craft, this is Battleship North Carolina.  You have entered our zone of influence.  Identify yourself, over."

There was a long pause, but to Fyrenn's surprise, a male voice suddenly emanated from the bridge's speaker system.

"North Carolina, this is swick-boat four attached to Destroyer UES Ithaca.  We're carrying two official Earthgov Legal Executors.  We have Council-level authorization to board your vessel and carry out orders on behalf of the Admiralty, and the Council."

Orik's eyes narrowed, and he stepped towards the forward window.

"Transmit your two-step authentication codes."

The Captain gestured to his communications officer to verify the information as it arrived, first in the form of computerized tones, then vocally delivered access sequences via a synthesized voice.

"Tango.  One.  Seven.  Echo.  Six.  Two.  Six.  Break.  Bravo. Nine.  Four.  India.  Charlie.  Niner.  Five."

The communications officer leaned in towards her screen, then turned, and nodded slowly as she delivered her verdict.

"The codes are valid.  Two high level executors sir, with full Council authority."

Orik sighed, and offered Fyrenn a sideways glance, before tapping his headset once more.

"Swick India-Four, proceed to holding pattern on our port side while we prepare the water garage for arrival.  Disarm all weapons systems and standby for further instructions."

The response brought a visible ripple of shock to the bridge crew.

"Negative Battleship Actual.  Disengage your fire-control and defensive systems, prepare your port access railing for boarding, and standby to turn over all Marine guards, and command codes, to our officer of the watch."

There was a long pause.  Fyrenn could see that Orik was visibly shocked, and affronted, by the abnormality, audacity, and flagrant protocol violations inherent in the orders.

"If you have a Lieutenant Commander Isaac Wrenn aboard, place him under arrest, along with anyone who arrived with him.  In particular, he is thought to be travelling with a young child, who should be considered armed and extremely dangerous.  Acknowledge receipt of orders."

Orik paused once more, before tapping his headset, his eyes narrowing and his face going taught with controlled anger as he spoke.  Fyrenn made his way quickly to the bridge's left lookout wing, and pushed open the hatch as the Captain began speaking in a low, firm tone.

"Your legal authority does not give you the right to countermand my directives as Captain of this ship.  Disengage your weapon systems, and adopt the specified holding pattern immediately, or we will deploy water canons."

Fyrenn did his best to keep one ear towards the conversation as he scoured the moonlit sea for the craft.  His eyes found the small gray object almost instantly.  It's harsh angular lines and the giant spray of water kicked up by its engines were unmistakable.

Though neither the lookout, nor the ship's cameras, could see the faces within the hydrofoil owing to its one-way cockpit glass, Fyrenn's eyes could easily pierce the veil.

He counted a pilot, navigator, gunner, two men in suits, and a dozen heavily armed and armored soldiers in black armor, with no identifying emblems.  Along with four Diamond Dogs in similar garb.  Three Trolls, and a Vulpine.

Fyrenn stared for several moments, working through the implications of the sight, before turning back to the access hatch, his face hardening in rage.

The red Gryphon strode back onto the bridge just in time to hear the SWCC boat pilot's response.

"Captain Orik, you are hereby relieved.  Executive officer, please dismiss the Captain into the custody of the ship's guard, and comply with our previous directives."

Everyone, including Fyrenn froze for a long moment.  Orik fixed his XO with a motionless stare.  The younger man had a similar build, but much lighter skin, and a shock of wavy brown hair.

To Orik's clear shock, and disdain, the man drew his pistol, and leveled it slowly.

"Captain, as per the official Council directive, you are relieved of your command effective immediately.  You will submit yourself to the officer of the watch for incarceration until---"

The man, who's nameplate identified him as commander 'Ward,' paused as Fyrenn turned to the bank of consoles midway between the captain's dais, and the helm.  He watched in silence as the red Gryphon moved to stand over the fire control officer, before shifting his pistol abruptly to aim between Fyrenn's shoulder blades.

"HALT! Step away from the console!"

Fyrenn ignored the words, sizing up the array of controls.  In the center of the panel was a manual control joystick that the officer could link to any of the ship's guns, large or small, for direct control.  The upright screens mostly consisted of gun cameras, range finders, and LADAR scopes.

The waist-level input panels were mostly given over to organizational controls.  The majority of the ship's weapons were handled from a separate compartment with dedicated gunners and missile control officers, but the bridge weapons officer acted as the captain's living liaison to the CIC's Tactical Actions officer.

Fyrenn recognized the majority of the controls clustered around the manual stick.  He tapped the officer on the shoulder, and pierced him with a firm look.  The man obediently shuffled out of his chair, nearly falling backwards as he scrambled to remove himself from the Gryphon's line of sight.

Fyrenn's expression was so visibly terrifying, that Ward's expression had taken on more panic than anger or frustration.  His tone reflected a similar change.

"LAST CHANCE LIEUTENANT!"

Fyrenn continued to ignore the man, flicking several physical switches and swiftly tapping out a series of commands on the nearest touch panel.  The central guncam screen switched to a forward view, and dutifully overlaid a detailed rangefinder readout.

Out on the forward deck, a smaller vertical cylinder between the two main turrets irised open, and a menacing cluster of rotating barrels pivoted outwards, locking into place with the clank and hiss of magnetic bolts.

The sound was immediately followed by a pistol shot.  Deafening in the close confines of the bridge.  Fyrenn found it easy to shift his body to the side with plenty of room to spare.  Ward's finger was shaking so badly, that he had telegraphed his actions well over a second in advance.

A brief struggle between Orik, the helmsman, and Ward ensued, during which Fyrenn took the opportunity to carry out his actions unmolested.

Lining up the SWCC hydrofoil was pure child's play.  Though it was difficult to acquire a LADAR lock-on, and though even the visual target acquisition system was largely disrupted by the boat's intentionally stealthy lines, Fyrenn's eyes were considerably harder to elude.

Using the guncam, the rangefinder, and a few quick glances out the window, Fyrenn placed the craft in precisely the right location, relative to his sights, to account for the North Carolina's movement, the hydrofoil's movement, and ambient wind.

Just as he completed the task, Orik managed to force Ward against the room's central holotank with the aid of his helmsman, slamming the XO's hand against the steel edge of the console over and over, until the pistol fell from his fingers.

Orik glanced up, and just barely had time to let out a deafening shout.

"DON'T!"

Fyrenn stiffened, and squeezed the joystick's main trigger forcefully.

Night turned to day on the foredeck.  Accompanied by the piercing whine of a turbine, an all-encompassing roar, akin to a passing maglev, washed over the front of the ship.  A vivid yellow and orange streamer burst from the front of the Helios gun, crossing the space between Battleship and Hydrofoil in less than half a second.

So many rounds exited the muzzle per second, that it looked as if a single pure jet of contained neon flame had been unleashed on the small craft.  The vessel instantly disintegrated as two hundred half-ton tungsten slugs impacted the object with every tick of the clock, at nearly seventeen times the speed of sound.

Fyrenn held the trigger in for almost five seconds, not content with simply shredding the vessel.  When he finally released the stick, his acute gaze told him that there was quite literally nothing left, metallic or biological, that was larger than a  thumbnail.

Steel, bone, organs, fuel, titanium, plexiglass, and tungsten had all been reduced to nothing more than particulate confetti, strewn out across a churned patch of burning sea.

Silence reigned for nearly another five seconds, before Orik strode forcefully to the front of the bridge.

"Are you out of your  goddamn *MIND?!*  You just fired on a friendly vessel!"

Fyrenn rose to his hind legs, and crossed his forelegs as he moved away from the fire-control station.

"Oh, I'm sorry Captain.  I must have mistaken their blatant combative overtures, an act of rank insubordination from your own XO, the presence of unmarked Diamond Dog mercenaries, and their generally suspicious and belligerent behavior for *something else!*"

"CAPTAIN!"

All eyes shifted abruptly to the LADAR officer as he clutched his headset with one hand, and gestured to the central display panel with the other.

"Contact surfacing!  We've been painted with active targeting LADAR!"

The North Carolina's defensive AI automatically sounded general quarters once more, and dimmed the bridge lighting to a red combat-alert state.  Distant thrums, clanks, and hisses heralded the deployment of smaller turrets and CIWS guns as the ship's defense systems came online autonomously.

Fyrenn stepped back to the window, and watched as the distant vessel surfaced in a huge fan-tail of salty spray.

He glanced back at Orik, and shook his head.

"That's not a destroyer."

"Battleship North Carolina;  This is Arsenal Ship Agincourt.  You will disable all active and passive weapons systems, cut your engines, and prepare for boarding operations!"

The LADAR officer shook his head slowly, and turned to face Orik.

"Ship's profile matches nothing in the database, and she's not transmitting any IFF.  Reads at a similar tonnage to a battlecruiser, but we're being pinged with over one *hundred* and fifty concurrent missile lock-on spot-beams."

Orik stiffened, and his eyes widened.  He exhaled sharply, and shook his head.

"I really hate to admit it Fyrenn, but I'm starting to think perhaps you were right about...  At least one thing..."

The Captain straightened his jacket, and nodded curtly.

"All engines ahead.  Full military thrust.  Assign main guns, torpedoes, and VLS to kill track two four eight.  Task all other armaments with missile defense.  Standby to fire on my order."

The helmsman relinquished his grip on Ward as two Marine guards entered with rifles readied.  He ducked behind his console, and began to carry out his orders.

"All engines ahead flank, full military thrust aye!  All hands, brace for combat maneuvers!  Officer of the watch, batten down the ship! Secure outer hatches!"

The weapons officer likewise resumed his seat, and began furiously working his panel, speaking quietly into his headset to avoid contributing to overall bridge noise levels.

"All turrets load standard armor piercing rounds, configure for mid-range attack profile.  Rotate zero-three-five degrees relative, zero-one-two degrees true.  TAO: Set elevation for target at distance one point four kilometers.  Assign VLS tubes one thru twenty to KKMD and place concurrent missiles into the reload pool.  Forward torpedo tubes to standby, and prepare for rapid fire deployment.  Helios, CIWS, and gimbal-guns reconfigure for anti-missile operations."

As the ship began to accelerate forcefully, Orik tapped his headset, glowering in the direction of the front windows.  Fyrenn watched intently as the main turrets rotated gradually, but steadily to face their assigned vectors.

"Agincourt;  You are not transmitting a valid IFF, and we do not recognize you as a commissioned ship of the Navy.  Secure your weapons systems, come to a full stop, and surrender immediately, or we will open fire."

The weapon's officer stiffened, as a series of piercing staccato alarms filled the compartment.

"VAMPIRE VAMPIRE!! Inbound supersonic heavy missiles on high-arc attack vectors, TAO, kill with Helios and sea-whizz!"

Orik gestured to an officer on the starboard side of the compartment as he leaned forward and gripped the nearest railing.

"Deploy Electronic countermeasures!  Helm, prepare for a hard port turn!  All hands, brace for inbound ordinance!  Standby for medical and damage control operations!"

The Captain turned to face the holotank, watching intently as the small scale semi-transparent models updated to reflect changing conditions.  Fyrenn dropped to all fours, and dug in with all his claws.

Orik squinted out the front window, and nodded to the weapon's officer.

"TAO: Free all weapon mounts and engage to destroy.  Rapid simultaneous fire of all assigned weapons to kill track two four eight!"

"Killing track two four eight, AYE!  All personnel, make ready for main-gun operations!  Clear all spaces on fore and aft upper decks!"

Following a special klaxon, an unholy din ensued that taxed even Fyrenn's aural endurance.  The bridge windows automatically dimmed, then went dark as blast shields irised into place.  The view was quickly replaced with a true-to-life computer generated rendering, complete with tactical overlay.

The main guns came to life with a sound roughly equivalent to ground-zero of a nuclear detonation, physically rocking the ship slightly each time they cycled in-spite of AI controlled gyros and thrusters designed to mitigate the effect.

The deck plating was practically electrified with vibrations as missiles spun up and were cut loose as fast as the reloader mechanism could slot them, and the ship's AI could assign tracking vectors.  The distinctive rumble of supercavitating torpedoes leaving the hull punctuated the bedlam at intervals.

The cacophony only got worse as the ship's Close-In weapons, Rail-Saws, Gimbal turrets, and Helios guns came alive, desperately trying to eliminate the hundreds of missiles pouring forth from the Agincourt.

Though the general commotion was reduced to vaguely livable levels by the sound baffling of the bridge's hull casing, Fyrenn was reminded forcefully that the crew wore noise-cancelling headsets for good reason.  He locked his own internal ear-plates down to provide a similar effect.

The surviving warheads from the enemy's first salvo hit with incredible force, rolling the ship almost seven degrees and knocking it slightly off course.

An officer to the rear of the bridge shouted into her headset frantically.

"Thirty direct impacts!! Armor belts are reduced by one-third integrity on starboard side!  Damage control reports several snapped structural members at bulkhead Alpha on deck four!  Two dead, fifteen severely wounded!"

Orik hissed, and winced reflexively.

"DAMMIT!  What are they hitting us with?!"

Fyrenn shouted loudly to make himself heard over the noise, and through the added barrier of Orik's headset.

"They said Arsenal ship!  And Judging by the number of concurrent missile launches, that's a well earned designation!  I'd guess they're using rapid-fire anti-ship cruise missiles with over-packed warheads, and linking C&C to their own internal servers to make up for the loss of onboard AI components!"

Orik gestured to the LADAR officer emphatically.

"How bad have we hit them?!"

The man shook his head, his eyes widening.

"They're using the ship's low-slung profile to put waves between them, and our main guns.  Our missiles aren't doing anything at all, though we managed to score one torpedo hit, and graze their bowsprit with the aft Helios.  Minimal damage!"

The weapons officer adjusted his microphone and spoke rapidly.

"Torpedoes inbound!  The enemy has launched SIX torpedoes and TWENTY mines!  TAO reports fire control LADAR is having trouble locking onto the enemy craft!"

The Captain dipped his head, and exhaled sharply.

"We're at a disadvantage at this range!  Prepare for EMCON one, and rig ship for a crash dive!  Keep firing until we're ready to submerge!  Comm: Dispatch wideband distress signal on all channels and specifically contact Indianapolis.  Request long-range fire support and an air strike package!  Tell them we can't risk launching our own birds in close prox to this kind of missile threat."

Orik turned to the helmsman and gestured to his left.

"Hard port turn, then move into random evasive!  Prepare all thrusters and directional planes for a diving maneuver and reset ballast control system!  LADAR, paint the target and log speed, direction, and past maneuvers to transmit to Indianapolis for predictive firing."

The North Carolina rocked savagely once again as another spread of warheads found their way through the defense grid.

"All hands!  Brace for emergency maneuvers!"





"Sir! I'm receiving a distress call."

The Indianapolis' Captain narrowed his eyes, and moved to lean over his communications officer's panel.

"Details."

"IFF pings the origin as FBB-Fifty Five, Battleship North Carolina, operating south-southeast of here in grid ten-twelve.  They are painting an unidentified heavy-tonnage vessel and reporting appreciable damage to their outer hull.  Captain Orik is requesting long range Railgun support and deployment of our Scythes."

The Captain narrowed his eyes, and nodded.

"Wake the flight crews.  I want birds up in five, configured for heavy surface attack.  Lock all railguns on North Carolina's designated kill tracks and begin immediate bombardment when ready."

The man turned, and raised the volume of his voice, depressing an intercom key on the nearest bulkhead comm station.

"General quarters, general quarters.  All hands to battle stations.  This is not a drill.  Alpha-shift to primary combat positions and prepare for long-range active support maneuvers."

The Captain released the intercom key, and darted to the front of the bridge.

"Helm, left standard rudder.  Engines to quarter thrust.  Get us to an unencumbered firing position, and prepare to set sea anchors fore and aft."





"Sir, according to SatVision telemetry, friendly birds are airborne and en route!  ETA ten minutes!  Indianapolis is preparing to rake our designated kill track with long range bombardment."

Orik nodded, and dug in his heels.

"Weapons: Ceasefire!  Set EMCON one throughout the ship!  Helm, begin crash drive procedures!"

Fyrenn sighed, and once again dug into the deck plating with his claws.

"This was never all that smooth, even in a destroyer."

The Captain inclined his head, and exhaled slowly.

"Well it's this, or sink."

The LADAR officer gestured to the holotank as the helmsman set about changing the settings on his control panel.

"Sir!  Enemy contact is breaking pursuit.  It looks as if they've detected the incoming aircraft, as well as our target painting beamriders."

Orik shook his head, then fixed his gaze firmly to the fore of the ship.

"Maintain original course and orders.  I'm not chancing another joust with that thing today."

The Battleship once again groaned under stress as the deck pitched forward sharply.  Water burst upon the forward viewscreen, and within seconds, the vessel had vanished entirely from the surface.

Gradually, the craft began to level out.  And silence finally descended again.

Orik released his white-knuckled grip on the railing, and sighed.

"Get me complete damage and casualty reports.  Have damage control prioritize structure and engine damage.  Make course for the Port of New York and run silent.  No transmissions of any kind save for an encrypted microburst report to naval command every two hours."

A the Captain turned to leave, he leveled a finger at Fyrenn.

"I knew you were going to cause trouble as soon as you set claw on my ship.  I just didn't realize some of my people would have to die as a result."

The red Gryphon glowered, and hissed.

"Your men died to protect an innocent child, because you didn't listen to my warning.  They did their duty, just like any of us would.  And if you keep pointing that finger at me, I'm going to take it from you, for my next meal."
> Chapter 48
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 3rd, Gregorian Calendar

"Make your report admiral."

Councilor Loryss set the DaTab down on her nightstand, and sat up, pulling her robes tight around her shoulders to fend off the evening chill.

"We followed the mission parameters to the letter ma'am, but it didn't go well.  The North Carolina destroyed our hydrofoil, killing everyone aboard.  Including your two executors.  We did our best to sink the ship as per your directive, but they were able to survive long enough for fire support to arrive.  We had to flee the area, or risk exposing the Agincourt to more witnesses, and further damage."

Loryss pursed her lips, and frowned.

"I understand Admiral.  Return the ship to Norfolk, repair and reprovision.  Await further instructions there.  We will soon be deploying you on a new joint operation."

"Yes ma'am."

The Councilor jammed her thumb into the DaTab, cutting the channel.  She took a moment to settle her breathing, then dialed up another encrypted line.  After several moments, the screen gave way to another audio wave from.  The voice on the other end of the channel was once again male, but far deeper than the Admiral's, and infinitely more gruff.

"Yes?"

Loryss scowled, and glanced away to her apartment's window as she spoke.

"Four of your pack members are dead.  I want you to find, and eliminate the person responsible."

"How?"

The Councilor tapped at the screen once more, dispatching a small data packet to the asset via an encrypted burst transmission.

"Extract this target.  I have reason to believe she may have been converted, so in all likelihood you are searching for a fledgling, not the Human child pictured in the documents.  Use her to draw out the secondary target.  Then kill them both."

"Where?"

Loryss glanced down at the DaTab once more, shivering reflexively at the grim fury contained in the voice.

"A Battleship will be arriving in the harbor in a matter of hours.  I do not advise a direct attack.  Considering how dangerous your opponent has proven himself you should treat my given strategy as your stated objective."

There was a brief pause, then the voice came through loud and clear once more.

"I will deliver the heads, for proof, in the usual fashion."





"Just hold that angle!  Perfect!"

Fyrenn smiled as he watched April make minute, precise, instinctive adjustments to the cant of her tailfan, and the direction of her primaries.  The fledgling hovered precisely over the prow of the Battleship, allowing the upward and backward wind force to hold her relatively still above the deck.

April looked almost like a figurehead, brought to life by some incredible accident of a spell.  Every inch of her feathers and fur were outlined in the sharpest possible detail by the lights of Manhattan's port as it swiftly filled the western horizon.

Though Fyrenn had managed to sleep for nearly five hours during the return trip, April had categorically refused to close her eyes.  Neyla and Fyrenn had ended up sleeping in shifts, in order to ensure that the curious and hyperactive young convert was never without supervision.

April had soon discovered useful ways to expend her seemingly boundless energy.  Everything from helping to carry wounded crewmembers to and from the medical bay, down to helping the maintenance crews with hard to reach bolts and clasps.

Over the course of the night, the fledgling had dragged first Neyla, then Fyrenn, to every corner of the ship and back, several times over.  As a result, her first flight practice had attracted a fairly large audience from among the crew.

The red Gryphon turned his head slightly as a small breeze heralded Neyla's passing.  The Gryphoness dipped, wheeled, and drew up alongside April on the left, beating her wings occasionally to remain in place despite her greater size and mass.

Fyrenn snapped open his own wings, and rose to join the other two Gryphons, taking up a position on April's right.

"Think you've got a feel for it?"

April's grin widened, and she nodded.  Fyrenn jerked his head to the side, and winked.

"Then just tilt to the right and slide out of the updraft.  Don't think, just let your wings do the driving."

April's eyes widened briefly in surprise, then she nodded, and her eyes narrowed in determination.  She inhaled deeply, then dipped her right wing, slewing away from the relatively safe embrace of the North Carolina's jetstream.

Fyrenn rolled right and climbed to avoid placing himself in the fledgling's way, while still remaining close enough to catch her or stabilize her if necessary.

His concerns were wholly and entirely unjustified.

April rose at a surprisingly swift clip for such a young Gryphon, beating her wings efficiently, steadily, and smoothly until she was high enough to experiment with more complex maneuvers.

She paused for a long moment to stare down at the harbor, the city, and the ship as the world unfurled below her in a panoply of lights and shapes.  The fledgling soon found that her eyes' incredible capacity for detail extended out to nigh impossible range.  

Even the cover of night had no discernable detrimental effect.  The leftover luminescence from Equestria's moon, and Manhattan's streetlights, rendered everything down to the tiniest chinks of sand on the piers.

April rolled, then looped, letting out a keening call of joy that surprised even her.  As she came around and beheld the Barrier, and the Equestrian sky, she gasped, relaxing into a slow glide as she fixated on the stunning sight.

Every star in the sky was ablaze with a cold, yet comforting light, laid out like fine diamonds against a canopy of subtler blues, blacks, reds, and whites.  The centerpiece of the arrangement was the crescent moon, glistening like the blade of a new scythe fresh from the quenching bucket.

The silvery-blue light reflected off the sea beneath, painting the waves in a stunning array of metallic sheens.

As Neyla and Fyrenn drew up beside her once more, April finally brought her focus to rest on the barrier.  The glimmering, rippling energy field was so close that its scope was difficult to grasp at first.

April found that her best point of reference was to examine the locations where it was verging on making landfall, sometimes within feet or even inches of making contact with a building, or a sea wall.

Fyrenn sighed, and shook his head slowly.

"Remember this.  Always save a special place for this sight.  You will be part of the last generation to have living memories of this city."

April exhaled slowly, and blinked.

"I'd almost rather forget this place.  There are so many painful memories..."

The fledgling paused, then inclined her head, and mimicked Fyrenn's sigh.

"But there are important ones too.  So I suppose you're right, in the end.  I guess Sonya would say that I need to forget the bad, and always hold on to the good."

Fyrenn nodded, and the group passed into silence for several minutes, by unspoken consent.  The three Gryphons simply took in the vista below, imprinting it on their minds with even more strength and clarity than usual.

Finally, the red Gryphon grinned, and nudged April with one wing.

"I see more good memories to be made."

April raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head slightly.

"Where?"

Fyrenn pointed, and April turned her head in the direction of his index talon.  As the fledgling diverted her attention, the elder Gryphon tapped her on the shoulder, then folded his wings and dropped like a stone.

"There.  You're it."

It took April only a microsecond to realize what had happened.  She shared a brief grin with Neyla, before the two Gryphons pulled into a tight stoop, allowing the world to rush past at incredible speeds as they sought to catch up with Fyrenn.

The red Gryphon allowed April to close to within a few yards, before pulling out of his dive near the harbor's surface.  He glanced over his shoulder and grinned, before moving into a series of wide, long slalom maneuvers between the island structures of ships.

April put her smaller shape and lesser mass to good use, cutting her turns so tightly that radio masts nearly brushed her chest feathers on several occasions.

At last, the fledgling managed to catch up to Fyrenn just as he evened out into a straight-line sprint towards the Battleship.  The vessel was in the process of being tugged into an enormous docking slip by two utility boats, and thus presented an easy landing surface to acquire, even for April.

She extended one claw, and managed to tap Fyrenn roughly on his left shoulder, just before the pair came to a halt on the fore deck, eliciting impromptu applause from the assembled crew.

Neyla had long since alighted on the nearest gangway, alongside a gaggle of familiar faces.  The moment the connection bridge met the deck, there was a wild rush towards April, led and fueled primarily by Skye, who hit the fledgling with enough force to send the two tumbling to the deck in an amusing heap.

It took some time for Skye, Stan, Hutch, Aston, Kephic, and Varan to each receive an embrace, exchange words and smiles, and examine April's new features in detail.

At last the majority of the group had finished their salutations, and moved on to stand in smaller groups across the deck, conversing with Neyla, and each other, in low tones.  Fyrenn gestured to the remaining roan Gryphon, and smiled as April took a tentative step towards him.

"April, this is Sildinar.  He is the reason I'm still here today.  He's also the reason I was granted a Conversion slot in the first place."

Sildinar dipped into a half-sitting, half-kneeling position, and flashed April a warm smile.

"Well met little one.  Fyrenn has told me that you are very brave, and wise beyond your years.  I'm glad to see you inherited such beautiful markings from him, and Neyla."

April smiled, and blushed slightly, dipping her head in greeting and deference.  Somehow, she instinctively knew that Sildinar outranked everyone else around her, even the Human officers.  Fyrenn wondered if she had somehow picked up on aspects of his body language, or if Sildinar just carried enough of a commanding aura in and of himself.

He gestured to Neyla, and gave April a light push with his left wing.

"Sildinar and I need to have a word.  You should go tell the others how your first flight went, and all about the Conversion.  Knowing Stan, he's probably about to burst a blood-vessel out of pure curiosity."

April nodded, and smiled.

"Yeah!  I'll have to hoof-wrestle him again.  I bet he'll have a harder time of it now."

Fyrenn sighed and watched as April bounded into the midst of the group, instantly bringing added brightness to every smile.  He shook his head slowly, and glanced at Sildinar.

"Thank you for coming here on such short notice.  I'm sure Hutch explained a great deal of what has happened so far, but I'd like to fill you in on the rest."





Sildinar drummed his talons on the conference room table, then glanced out the port hole to his left, and sighed.

"You were not exaggerating when you said that your actions might have serious implications."

Fyrenn snorted, and practically inhaled the last of his coffee before responding.

"No indeed.  Skye and Stan aren't fully aware of some of the lengths I've gone to.  And I'm not sure they should know what I'm about to do, either.  Neyla, Kephic, and Varan are almost as angry as I am.  They'd probably involve themselves in a heartbeat if I asked.  Aston?  She's well and truly riled at me though, as is Lantry."  

Sildinar inclined his head, returning his gaze to Fyrenn.

"They have no right to be.  But I understand their perspective, as best I think I can without the benefit of Human experience. 
They're not entirely wrong either.  You do have less aggressive options at your disposal."

Fyrenn opened his beak, and took a breath to respond, but Sildinar held up a claw, continuing in a calm tone.

"That being said...  Were I in your place, I am not sure I would be able to subsume enough of my anger, and fear, to take those rockier paths.  I'm not sure anyone *should.*  What is right is rarely that which is easy, and Human politics too often values that which is easy over that which is right.  I offer my help, and my support.  As always."

The red Gryphon smiled, and exhaled slowly.

"You know, I'm not sure I can ever find a way to express my gratitude for your friendship."

Sildinar waved a claw absently, and averted his gaze once more out of mild embarrassment.

"Bah!  To bring new, revitalizing ideas and expansionist spirit to our kind is expression enough.  So tell me...  Why specifically did you ask me here?"

Fyrenn sighed, and blinked exhaustion from his eyes.

"I want to make April an official part of the clan, and my family.  When the bodies start to fall again, and I begin to make a public mess of things, our adversary will be free to operate in the public arena as well.  That could mean a potential legal challenge to April's status.  I don't expect that to present a danger to her in and of itself...  But I do expect it to damage the Bureaus' public relations.  For their sake, we should legitimize the adoption by Earthgov's laws, as well as ours."

Sildinar shook his head slowly, and his face fell.

"The former may not be possible.  Not after what's happened."

Fyrenn nodded, and tilted his head slightly.

"True, but that's part of why I asked you here.  As a prince of the realm, you have the power to bring immense diplomatic pressure to bear.  If the current structure of the law does not permit children in April's situation to be adopted into an Equestrian family, then the law needs to be dismantled and remade.  This is about more than just April's plight.  It always has been."

The red Gryphon sat back, and yawned in spite of efforts to the contrary, before continuing.

"I recognize that the children abused by this organization are not the only orphans on this planet, by a long shot...  But they will be the first to reap potential benefits of a new law.  New identities and families will be critical to the process of securing their freedom."

Sildinar nodded and jerked his head towards the pre-dawn light peeking over the edge of the porthole.

"You plan to send April to Tih’ré Seli’hn, then? Until this matter is concluded?"

Fyrenn shook his head, and leaned forward, his ears flattening and his beak turning down 
sharply.

"That route is closed to us for the moment."

Sildinar tilted his head, and swished his tail as Fyrenn's tone and volume dropped to conspiratorial levels.

"Our enemies are not operating alone.  Several members of a Diamond Dog pack were present during the assault on this ship.  That makes any attempt at crossing the wilds between here and the Kingdoms hazardous.  Particularly if April is under a bounty that any enterprising clan could collect." 

Fyrenn sighed once more, and closed his eyes momentarily.

"She is too young to make the journey entirely on-the-wing, and that would leave her vulnerable.  So for now, I think here may be the safest place for her, relatively speaking.  Defended by eighty two thousand tons of titanium and steel.  It is far from ideal, but it needn't last overly long."

The red Gryphon thumped a fisted claw into the table, and his eyes narrowed.

"I intend to make a public example of these people.  One that will leave a lasting mark in the memories of all who see it.  It's time to remind everyone what we do to those who oppress and enslave.  A reminder inscribed in fresh blood."

Fyrenn rose, turning as he depressed the lever to release the room's hatch.

"And when I'm finished?  Even the devil will be afraid to set foot within a thousand miles of my family."





"Good morning.  You sleep well?  Because I certainly did."

Commander Ward stiffened, and twisted frantically to get a fix on the origin of the voice.  Fyrenn stepped slowly around the side of the APC and smiled, the mid-morning sun glinting off the curve of his beak.

"It is amazing what even four hours here and there can do for you.  But I'm betting you didn't enjoy your night in the brig."

Ward narrowed his eyes, and threw back his head.

"GUARD!"

Fyrenn chuckled for a long moment, the sound rumbling deep in his chest.  Ward's eyes widened, as he realized that help was in no way, shape, or form, forthcoming.  The red Gryphon inclined his head.

"That's right.  Your driver and both guards are strung up, and gagged, at the end of the pier.  For the next fifteen minutes..."

Fyrenn leapt gracefully into the back of the vehicle, and pulled the rear door closed with an unsettlingly delicate touch.

"No one can hear you.  No one can see you.  And no one short of God can save you...  Though I doubt He's in any mood for Divine intervention, considering your recent behavior."

Ward scooted backwards until he was flush against the rear of the compartment, his eyes darting back and forth as overwhelming fear began to take over his body's reflexive motions.

"I don't know who you think you are...  But you'll pay if you lay even one talon on me!"

A chuckle escaped Fyrenn's chest once more.  The sound was even deeper, bordering on a growl.  It seemed to shake the very floor of the armored transport.

"You don't seem to know much about me, or my kind, so I'll fill you in.  A little 'free advice,' if you like..."

Fyrenn lunged forward, and pinned Ward's right shoulder to the bulkhead with one of his claws, spearing muscle and bone until his talons encountered metal.  The commander screeched in pain and scrambled to free himself, accomplishing nothing more than deepening his wounds in the process.

The red Gryphon brought his beak alongside the man's ear, and projected his voice with enough volume to ensure Ward received the message.

"My kind does not fear your kind.  My kind fears no one enough to abandon our purpose.  Right now, my purpose is to disassemble your organization from the ground up.  You will give me the information I need to continue that task, or I will use what's left of your corpse as bait."

As Ward's screams faded away into grunts, Fyrenn lowered his volume to a whisper.

"If you wish to die for your superiors?  You should understand that if I don't get what I want from you, I will reduce you to chunks so small that they will need a DNA scanner to identify you.  Since we have fifteen minutes, that means I have time to extract every single one of your finger and toe bones, piece by piece, one at a time.  Is the situation becoming clearer to you now?"

Ward flinched, and whimpered, nodding as vigorously as he could without further traumatizing his shoulder.

Fyrenn smiled.

"Good.  Now then.  Start at the beginning, and when you get to the end...  The pain will stop."





"I thought I told you I wanted you off this ship when you were done."

Fyrenn snorted, and placed the crate in his claws down with a resounding thud.  He turned to see Orik leaning against a workbench, glowering.

"Plans changed.  April needs protection.  I need your machine shop.  I warned you that I wasn't making you any promises."

The red Gryphon gestured to the huge compartment around him.  The space was two decks high, and easily thirty yards long.  On the port side, large feeder doors opened onto a receiving pier.  On the starboard side, a lower-slung one deck high, ten yard long accessway led across the length of the ship to an identical machine shop on the other side of the vessel.

Orik's frown deepened, and he shook his head.

"Why do you need the machine shop?"

Fyrenn rolled his eyes and snorted once more as he made his way across the deck to another crate of materials.

"Well after you found all five pieces of Ward, you locked me out of the armory.  I didn't want to ask Neyla to retrieve anything for me because then you'd lock her out too, and she needs access if she is going to keep April safe."

The Captain watched in silence as Fyrenn removed several solid blocks of titanium from one crate, and a series of graphene sheets from another.  As the red Gryphon set about securing one of the metal blocks to a laser sculptor, Orik stepped up to the workbench, and glared.

"What you did to that man was unnecessary, and brutally vile.  He was an officer, and he deserved a fair trial.  And if death was the sentence?  So be it.  He deserved a humane execution.  You tore his limbs off one by one and let him bleed to death.  What did that accomplish?  Did it make you feel better?"

Fyrenn slammed the metal block home against the securing mechanism, causing Orik to jump back several feet.

"Yes!  It most *certainly* made me feel better, and I do not apologize for that.  But far more importantly?  It sent a message.  A message I'm going to keep sending in ever more creative ways, until it is received, understood, and acted on to my satisfaction.  If I have to kill everyone even remotely associated with this conspiracy for that to happen?  Including every complicit official, and every officer who stands in my way?  So be it."

The Gryphon silently spent a minute typing in a series of specifications for the laser sculptor, before flicking the activation switch, and turning to face Orik.  As the device spun up, and began to chip away at the metal block inch by inch, Fyrenn fixed the Captain with a death glare.

"Maybe you're right.  Maybe there are 'better' ways to go about this.  You're not the first person to tell me that.  But by now?  It should be clear to you that I no longer care if there are subtler means to ending this.  I gave fair warning.  I gave these people a solid chance to resolve this legally and humanely, with a minimum of bloodshed.  Now?  I will do whatever I have to, in order to see them hung high in the streets."





Fyrenn only stopped once, to take in a small meal.  By and by the ship's crew gave up on making any use of the port side machine shop.  The Gryphon had co-opted the majority of the equipment, and the enlisted were too frightened of his demeanor to make any use of the rest.

As the morning slipped away into mid-afternoon, Fyrenn's project began to take shape.  A part of him found it fascinating to build so much of the weapon from scratch.  The rest of him was utterly consumed by the impetus to finish the device, so he could put it to proper use.

A portion of the plan called for several chemicals that were not present on the ship.  As components underwent the lathing process, Fyrenn stopped periodically to call on his limited knowledge of chemistry, and the ship's database.

Slowly but surely, the various components of the project began to coalesce.  Everything from the smaller mass-manufactured items being ejected from the industrial 3D printer, to the elusive caustic compounds being mixed in spare fuel canisters.

As the weapon neared completion towards the end of the afternoon, Fyrenn realized that he had a visitor by way of Kephic.  The speckled Gryphon had approached in absolute silence, causing Fyrenn to shiver involuntarily when he realized he was no longer alone.

"Yeesh!  Knock next time, please.  For both our sakes."

Kephic chuckled, and gestured with one claw towards the mostly-finished components of Fyrenn's project.

"What are you planning to kill with that?  A fully grown hydra?"

Fyrenn smiled slightly, and snapped the weapon's rail armatures together, noting that the connection locks went together perfectly with a satisfying 'clank.'  Precisely as designed.

The red Gryphon hefted the partially finished object, and raised an eyebrow.

"Close.  But not quite."

Kephic glanced over at one of the percolating chemical containers, and sniffed, grimacing as the acrid scent reached his nostrils.

"That is absolutely rank.  Worse than Stan on a long flight.  What in the blazes are you concocting down here?"

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed as he continued to assemble the weapon carefully, and methodically.
He inclined his head towards the chemical distillation device, and smirked.

"What in the 'blazes' indeed.  Just an old Gryphic recipe, combined with a heavy dosage of Human chemistry."

The red Gryphon paused, and glanced up.

"Will you do me a favor, brother?  Could you and Varan please go back to the Bureau and retrieve two things for me?"

Kephic nodded curtly.

"Name them."
> Chapter 49
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 3rd, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn dipped his right index talon into the viscous red liquid, and carefully began to smear a series of decorative lines onto the metal pieces before him.  His new weapon, and the armor set Kephic had retrieved for him, had both received a new base-coat of paint in a shade of maroon so dark, it was very nearly black.

The color contrasted well with the brighter blood-red stripes Fyrenn layered carefully onto the titanium plating, as well as his own burgundy feathers.  Bit by bit, Fyrenn finished the side of the weapon, the wing guards, chest piece, and helmet.  He completed his task as the ship's clock chimed fifteen hundred.

The red Gryphon donned his new equipment swiftly, checking once more to ensure that he had removed and neutralized the armor's tracking beacon.  He finished by securing his sword, and his new weapon, between his wings on the armor's magnetic equipment hardpoints.

He stepped to the edge of the machine shop's outer door, and spread his wings.

The crewmen on deck shivered reflexively, and pulled away from the side railings, as a piercing predatory war-screech rose from below, swiftly followed by a red feathery streak.

The hunt was on.





"Do you have ANY idea what you've gotten us INTO Councilor?"

The General shook his head, and slammed a DaTab down in front of Loryss, before beginning a frantic pace back and forth across her office.

"I had to dig *deep* for that file, and believe me when I say you'd have been better off leaving the girl with that Gryphon, and cutting your losses."

Loryss raised an eyebrow, and began to carefully rifle through the DaTab's contents.

"Calm yourself Branson.  There is no need to exaggerate."

General Branson stopped short, and spun to glare at the Councilor.  Though shorter than average, and more stocky than most soldiers, the man's uniform identified him as a decorated four-star general of the Earthgov military.

"Exaggerate?  Woman, I just risked my career to retrieve this information for the Echelon.  This 'Lieutenant Commander Wrenn?'  He was under OUR consideration for recruitment, *twice!*  Office of Special Tasks buried his action record so deep I wasn't even sure it existed anymore!"

The General tapped the desk emphatically, leaning in close in an attempt to make his point.  The light from the nearest ceiling fixture glinted off his bald patch.

"This guy was part of deep, deep black-book counterinsurgency work.  He, and everyone on his squad, each individually had more kills per month than most platoons do in a YEAR!  Wrenn in particular was described as, and I quote, 'Ruthless beyond all categorization when innocent lives were at stake.'  And all this when he was just one of US!"

Loryss sighed, and set down the tablet, folding her hands and pursing her lips.

"What, precisely, do you feel this new information changes for us Branson?"

The General's eyes widened, and he gestured towards the DaTab once more.

"Did you READ any of that?  This guy once escaped capture with a fucking playing card!  He killed four insurgents with it, took their K-Bars, and then eliminated every single other hostile in the compound, on his own, without firing A SHOT!  He escaped full titanium body cuffs, and killed sixty heavily armed men, with AN ACE OF SPADES, AND TWO TACTICAL KNIVES!"

The Councilor sighed, and sat back, as Branson continued to shout.

"This man was one of our most effective killers, BEFORE they gave him wings, talons, and a beak!  He, three of his kind, and two of the Equines, put an entire HLF ARMORED *REGIMENT* six feet under in Vancouver, with one light tank, three rail rifles, and NO support!  So just what the hell did you think he was gonna do when *you* provoked him?!  You've potentially put everyone in Echelon Twelve on the hitlist, for his entire goddamn SPECIES, over ONE CHILD!"

Loryss tilted her head slightly, and blinked.

"Are you quite finished?  Good.  Lieutenant Wrenn will not be a problem moving forward.  I have enlisted the services of someone better suited to this task than your soldiers.  Maintain a low profile.  Enact some security measures if you truly feel it necessary.  And simply.  Remain.  Calm.  This will pass in a matter of days."

Branson shook his head slowly as he made his way to the door, levelling an accusatory index finger at Loryss.

"Your arrogance is going to get more of us killed.  You mark my words.  And you can be sure I'll be discussing it with your colleagues the next time we have a review board.  We did not get you elected to your position so you could gamble away the entire operation, on some god-forsaken VENDETTA!"





Commodore Danica Sievers was tall, thin, and commanding.  The woman responsible for Earthgov's Atlantic coast shipyards seemed perpetually cheerful from afar.  Any officer who worked with her for a protracted period, however, could testify that the smiles and laughs were all part of a carefully constructed façade.

Beneath that mask was a hard, cold, no-nonsense woman with a talent for logistics, and a stark lack of scruples.

Sievers grunted, and tapped away dutifully at her workstation's keyboard, carefully assimilating a series of after-action reports, and noting down the necessary repair orders to get the relevant ships back to their duty stations.

Danica squinted, and sighed.  Her desk lamp, and the late afternoon sun provided the only illumination in the officer.  She found that the overhead lighting interfered with her ability to read text on the screen for long durations.

The Commodore shifted in her seat, and glanced up, gripped momentarily by the feeling that she had seen something flit between the shadows in the corner of her office.

She shrugged, returning her eyes to the screen.  Only then did the voice issue forth from the shadows, causing the woman to jump several inches reflexively.

"Danica Sievers.  Born November twelfth, twenty seventy three.  Enrolled in Naval Officer School March ninth, twenty ninety five.  Commodore rank achieved August fourth, twenty one twelve.  Officer in charge of all Atlantic Naval Shipyards Drydocks and material logistics."

Fyrenn moved slowly, purposefully out of the darkness, allowing the desk lamp to accent his features;  Glistening beak, tense wings, sharp talons, and the menacing red streaks of his armor's war 'paint.'

Sievers tensed, and reached for a control panel embedded in the right hand near-corner of her desk.  The red Gryphon shook his head slowly as he circled the writing surface, bringing him face to face with the Commodore.

"Pointless.  I severed the external comm-lines before entering the room."

Danica stood, and carefully smoothed her uniform jacket, doing her best to adopt the imposing stance she was known for.

"What do you want, and who are you?"

Fyrenn slowly drew his sword, allowing the sharpened alloy edges to rasp menacingly against the inner lining of the scabbard.  He carefully placed the weapon tip-down against the floor, and leaned casually on the hilt.

"Yesterday I had the distinct displeasure of meeting one Commander Ward, former executive officer of the UES North Carolina.  This afternoon, right before I tore his body into five separate pieces, I extracted some important information from Ward.  Including your name, Danica."

The red Gryphon leaned forward, and smiled slightly.  The expression was grim, menacing, and in no way humorous.

"So tell me Commodore...  When did you become part of this 'Echelon Twelve?'  Before, or after you were given your position in this office?"

Sievers tensed, and took an involuntary step backwards.  Fyrenn watched, as the creases around her eyes went taught with fear.

"You're the one they put the kill order on!  The Gryphon who's been---"

Fyrenn nodded, interrupting smoothly and nonchalantly.

"Executing members of Echelon Twelve one by one.  Yes.  Well everyone needs a hobby.  And you?  I'd wager you are one of several key members that afforded E12 the necessary connections to float an unregistered Arsenal Ship from the discarded hull of a canceled Battlecruiser."

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and inclined his head.

"So how much do you know about the Children?  About my reasons for doing what I'm doing.  And what I'm about to do?"

Danica crossed her arms, and glared.  The woman took another shuffling step backwards as she did her best to keep a firm tone.

"If you're looking to find them?  I wouldn't help you, even if I could.  A warship.  A Battalion of soldiers.  Political influence.  All well and good...  But you're present and living proof that the unaugmented Human body is obsolete on the battlefield.  Even the HLF understands that, deluded as they may be." 

The Commodore blinked, and her tone became bolder.

"Those children represent our only chance to regain a favorable balance of power for Humanity.  It can only be a matter of time before there is an irreconcilable conflict of interest between an Equestrian race, and the Human race.  What then?  The most optimistic predictions all end in global Human extinction.  How do you expect us to react to being reduced in political and military stature, to a backwater lackey?"

Fyrenn lifted his sword, and leveled the point at Danica's chest.

"The age of the planet Earth is over.  Anyone with the tiniest grain of wisdom sees that.  People like you aren't any saner than the Human Liberation Front.  At least they're only brutalizing adult volunteers...  You people experiment on non-consenting orphan CHILDREN!  And for WHAT?!"

The Commodore jumped, and stepped back once more as Fyrenn's last word shook the room.  Sievers abruptly found herself pressed against the glass of the room's picture window.

Fyrenn took another step forward, and allowed his sword's edge to rest on the woman's throat.

"Humanity's legacy is already secured.  In the stars above, and In the hearts of future Equestrian generations...  In people like April.  The young life you so rabidly want to cut short in order to cover for your sins.  You've done the worst things imaginable to her, and by some sovereign act of grace, she's become the best that she could be, through that crucible."

The red Gryphon lowered his weapon, and his volume gradually.  

"I empathize, on some level.  It is hard to lose a planet like this.  No one is debating that.  And yet, it is the hand we were dealt.  And we were mercifully not left without good, solid options.  Like you said;  I'm living proof.  But you just couldn't leave it alone, could you?"

Just as Danica began to relax, Fyrenn rammed the sword into the floor, and snatched the woman with both claws.  In a flash, he had the Commodore by the neck, talons mere millimeters away from severing all her critical blood vessels.

"YOU WANTED A WAR?!  WELL GUESS WHAT?! YOU'VE BLOODY WELL *GOT* ONE NOW!"

Sievers gagged, and pulled away from Fyrenn's right forearm gauntlet reflexively, choking out her words as shrieks, eyes fixed on the red battle stripes adorning the metal.

"Is that...  ACK!! BLOOD?!"

Fyrenn nodded.

"Yes.  Ward's, in fact.  Old Gryphon custom for times of unbounded war.  We decorate our armor with the remains of our enemies, adding to the designs with each new victory.  It has a wonderful demoralizing effect, which your loss of bowel control has just beautifully demonstrated.  Now..."

Fyrenn wrenched the woman's head up so she could see her computer terminal, and bent low to bring his beak alongside her left ear.

"You're going to send an encrypted transmission to your point of contact in the Echelon.  You're going to request that he pick you up for emergency extraction in exactly one hour.  Tell him I've threatened your life.  It's the truth, after all.  If you follow my instructions to the letter?  I will let you leave this building alive.  If not?  I'll throw you out the window and you can argue your false morality with the other Isaac, and his laws."

The Commodore winced, squeezing out her words around the obstacle of Fyrenn's claws.

"I...  Thought you said...  You cut the comm...  Line..."

Fyrenn snorted, and growled through an enraged smirk.

"I lied."





"General Lantry...  Before we begin, I'd like to formally note that I feel uncomfortable doing this type of psychological profile on a soldier without his consent."

Lantry nodded slowly, then rapped on his desk with the knuckles of his right hand.

"Objection noted Doctor Ethos.  Please continue.  I shouldn't have to remind you that lives are at stake."

The Unicorn sitting opposite the General's desk shook her head, and frowned, her ears flattening reflexively in a sign of anxiety.

"Oh there is no doubt about that General.  I have to admit, I haven't had as much chance to study Gryphons up close as I'd like, but I've had more experience with them than virtually any other Equestrian psychologist."

Lantry nodded, and sat back, the tension of worry visible in his eyes, and lips.

"So after reading his file, and reports on his recent behavior, what can you tell me about Fyrenn?"

Acumen Ethos shifted, and blew a strand of her graying mane away from one eye.

"In short?  You have, through ill-advised action and inaction, created something so dangerous that the Humans I work with have a special term for it.  It's called 'redlining.'  And if you want my advice?  You should resign yourself to some extremely serious consequences."

Lantry leaned forward, and steepled his fingers, narrowing his eyes.

"Define redlining in terms an old soldier will understand."

The Unicorn sighed, and bit her lower lip.

"It isn't limited to the Gryphon species by any means, but it is most readily created, and visibly seen in them.  'Redlining' is the Human term for a situation where an Equestrian's negative emotions and fight-or-flight instincts are pushed past a critical brink."

Ethos' eyes brightened as she hit upon an illustration she knew the General could relate to.

"You may have seen it most commonly in fringe cases of forced Converts.  While the Human adaptable spirit usually meshes well with Equine optimism, resulting in eventual catharsis in spite of the trauma...  There are some who are so embittered by the experience, that their negativity overpowers them, and governs them.  In these cases, they 'redline' malaise or depression, often leading to suicide, or a total inability to function."

Lantry raised an eyebrow, and shook his head slowly.

"And what makes this different from conventional depression?"

The Doctor shifted once more, and cast her eyes downward.

"Redlined emotions can not be reversed by any means chemical, mental, spiritual, or magical until, or unless the source of the problem is eliminated.  In the case of a forced convert, nothing can really be done about it, within the existing realms of science and Thaumatics.  Not yet in any case."

The General sat back, and folded his arms as he spoke.

"Fyrenn doesn't seem depressed to me."

The Doctor shook her head emphatically, and gestured with one hoof.

"Redlining is different for each emotion within each species.  For example;  When a Diamond Dog redlines their malaise, or depression, it turns into a form of consuming greed so powerful that they abandon even their basic bodily needs like food, or water, mindlessly working themselves, literally, to death in pursuit of wealth."

Ethos sighed, and her muzzle drooped.

"Fyrenn has redlined his rage.  It is the most common form of emotional redline for both Gryphons, and Dragons.  And in both cases, it is something to be justifiably feared."

Lantry raised an eyebrow, and gestured with one hand for the Unicorn to elaborate.  She sighed, and sat back, her eyes going hollow as she conjured up images that she had no desire to dwell on.

"Gryphons mostly achieve this state through severe emotional trauma.  It is most potent when it stems from loss of family, fear of loss of family, or a combination of both.  Normally, Gryphons have a serious psychological weakness in unchecked anger;  It can shut down their higher reasoning and leave them vulnerable to bull-headed mistakes."

Lantry inclined his head and his tone edged from exhausted, to concerned.

"But in this case...  No?"

Ethos shook her head once more.

"No.  Once a Gryphon passes the redline of rage, they enter a state of heightened clarity.  Just the opposite of a blood wrath in that sense.  Their body's safeguards against self-inflicted short-term damage shut down temporarily, and their bloodstream floods with battle chemicals in concentrations even higher than normal for a fight to the death."

The Unicorn fixed Lantry with a desolate, sad, fearful stare.  

"It results in even greater speed, heightened stamina, a total loss of ability to feel physical pain, and sometimes heightened access to the brain's latent intelligence.  Reflexes quicken, instincts sharpen, and..."

Ethos paused, and winced, as if recalling something particularly disturbing. 

"...They lose all sense of empathy, respect, or caring for anyone or anything outside their species, their closest friends and family, and those they would deem truly innocent.  Everything else becomes at best irrelevant, or at worst another target.  There is no other middle ground."

She nodded towards a DaTab on the edge of Lantry's desk, containing images of both Fyrenn's Human, and Gryphic visages.

"As I said, this is most commonly seen when a Gryphon feels a family member is threatened, and especially if someone under their care has been killed.  As in his case.  The effect is so powerful, for both Gryphons and Dragons, in their own unique ways...  It is quite literally a culturally ingrained instinct in all the other races that it is better to die than to cross even a single fledgling, whether scaled or feathered."

Ethos nodded once more towards the DaTab.

"I'm not sure if you're familiar with some of the relevant historical events, but I took the liberty of bookmarking them for you.  To shorten a long story?  The Gryphons reduced what you might call a 'superpower,' to a fractured cowering backwater, over the kidnapping, attempted enslavement, and execution, of just a few dozen fledglings, by one rogue Diamond Dog clan."

Lantry shook his head slowly, and grunted.

"That sounds...  Unusually barbaric.  Even for them."

The Unicorn inclined her head slowly.

"That is the nature of redlining.  Don't misconstrue.  They are still fully bound by their built-in morality, in every measurable sense.  They can not and will not harm those they view as innocent.  But concepts like empathy, mercy, respect for other culture's laws and customs, fear of enemy force or punishment, respect for equals...  These simply cease to *exist* in any quantifiable sense, for a redlined Gryphon, until such time as the effect is dispersed.  All that is left is the drive to protect their own, and the drive for pure unchecked justice.  It is nothing so much as actual programming, like a combat AI."

Ethos sighed, and glanced down at the desk's faux oak surfacing.

"You want to know what to expect from Fyrenn?"

She paused, and stared deep into Lantry's eyes, until the man shivered reflexively.  Only then did the Unicorn continue.

"Tartarus unleashed, General.  When the Gryphon Kingdoms first attacked the Diamond Dog Clans, they offered them one warning, and one chance.  They demanded the ruling Alpha of the overclans disavow the actions of the kidnappers, and sign an affirmation legitimizing the Gryphons' execution of the directly-responsible parties..."

Lantry sat back, and his eyes widened, as realization dawned.  He murmured quietly in the general direction of the ceiling.

"They refused, so the Gryphons treated them..."

Ethos nodded, and exhaled slowly, and raggedly.

"They treated them as complicit.  Since Diamond Dogs pass down everything through the pack structure, if the leaders of the overclans were legitimizing the crime?  Then it was inevitable that more kidnappings would follow.  Every single Troll irrespective of gender, age, or temperament, with only exceptions for the very young, became a target.  Because any of them could, and would, eventually become an egg stealer, or a fledgling murderer, as far as they were concerned."

The Unicorn breathed in and out for several seconds, trying to dismiss the images of violence from her mind.

"The overclan Alphas, due to their unique situation and standing, spoke for the vast majority of their species.  And condemned most of them to death in the process.  By the time they realized they had invoked what the Gryphons call 'total, unbounded warfare,' they were already committed.  They had no desire to lose political face.  By the time they realized that their vastly superior numbers and war chests were no match for Gryphic fury, let alone fury paired with better discipline, training, and technology..."

Ethos stared dolefully up into Lantry's eyes once more.

"They had been reduced from the largest empire, and military, in our world, to third class citizens.  Barely above animals in standing with most people.  No central government.  Hardly any defining culture.  No unified military.  Not much of an economy to speak of.  Many brave Gryphons did fall, true.  They lost almost a third of their kind, and their numbers to this day still haven't quite reached the previous peak..."

Ethos snorted, and tossed her mane out of her eyes.

"But the Diamond Dog Trolls were decimated to less than one eighteenth of their original numbers.  And those mostly the genetic detritus of the subspecies, because they press everyone into combat service except for the crippled or mangled.  Even now, the Trolls suffer decreased intelligence overall due to the culling of their lifecode tree.  The Gryphons even locked away any and all historical documents taken from the ashes.  They denied the remaining clans any ability to verify the royalty of existing Alpha bloodlines, or reclaim their heritage, which is heavily family-lineage focused, thus denying them the ability to organize and unify again politically, or even reclaim their cultural dignity.  They devolved them by force."

The Unicorn stood, and tapped the DaTab with one hoof.

"Fyrenn may be just one Gryphon, but he is, in this state, willing and able to reduce whole armies of lesser-bodied species, like yours, to unmarked mass gravestones.  Or die trying.  He believes there is an organization at work here...  If he is right, then he will not drop out of his redline until every single last one of the people he considers guilty, or complicit, are dead."

Ethos shook her head slowly, and glanced away.

"He will stop at nothing, short of committing truly evil acts, to accomplish his goals.  He will cut down anyone or anything that stands in his way.  Everything from a close friend, to an entire government, if he feels he must.  He doesn't care...  He *can't* care, about issues of political stability, or respecting local laws.  Let alone your authority.  In this state, he is incapable of perceiving you as an authority at all.  The battle with self-control is already lost at this point.  Nothing will restore it, except closure."

The Unicorn moved to the office door, and paused with one hoof raised towards the control panel.

"Don't mistake his quieter days for a resciendence of this state.  He can still interact almost normally with his own kind in the more still, silent moments...  But if I were you General, I would cease any and all half-measure efforts to stand in his way, or even to reason with him.  You will more than likely lose your life in the process.  You either get out of his way?  Or you deploy force capable of annihilating him, and any Gryphon with any measurable relationship to him."

Ethos pressed the door open, and glanced over her shoulder.

"I don't pretend to understand your politics, or to know all the 'classified factors,' but let me lend you some advice, based on what I've just read."

The Unicorn turned, and swished her tail in agitation.

"Right now, this is about a small number of subversives, one Gryphon, and one Convert.  Leave him be?  It will all be over soon enough.  You will face political and legal fallout, but you'll be free to do damage control in whatever way you see fit.  As soon as all his enemies are dead, he will likely not only be prepared to step back, but will want to distance himself from the issue due to exhaustion and latent disgust."

Ethos' gaze darkened, and her eyes narrowed.

"But If you obstruct him...?  If your government fails to lend some form of legitimacy to his concerns...  Fails to disavow the guilty parties?  Then you are running the risk of placing your entire military and government into the crosshairs of the deadliest warrior races in either world.  He has direct top-level connections to the Gryphic Royal family.  If they become involved, the entire race does.  If the Gryphons do?  Then the allied Golden and Silver Dragons will as well.  And their allied Lupines.  And anyone else who wants to court political favors from any of those parties by bringing tributes of Human heads on pikes."

The Unicorn gestured with a hoof, and sighed.

"Working on this planet, I've seen your military.  I've also seen, first-hoof, what angry Gryphons, or Dragons, can do to species with far stronger bodies, and convictions, than yours.  A massacre of some description is inevitable now.  But you still have a chance to determine how swiftly the bloodshed ends.  Don't waste it."





Fyrenn lay prone on the rooftop, the setting Earthly sun to his back, concealed as always by the opacity of the atmosphere.  Spread out below him was one of the last bustling, living, thronging places in the city save for the Bureau.

The office of the Navy.

Officers, personnel, and workers were busy moving crates of supplies, furniture, DaTabs and various sundries in preparation for the final evacuation.  Fyrenn glanced up at the window to Sievers' office, and noted that she had left her desk.  Precisely on schedule.

The moment Fyrenn had departed, Danica had summoned security, filed a report, and turned out half the building's guard force looking for him.  The actions were all part and parcel of the behavior he had hoped to trigger in her.  Total panic.

The red Gryphon gazed down the iron sights of his weaponized creation.  The sniper rifle was so large, that even he found it something of a chore to carry in its fully assembled state.  When the lengthened barrel was removed, it could double as a heavy assault RAC, and fully collapsed it fell just within the range of bulk and weight he could stand to carry between his wings for long periods.

The rifle had received a coat of red paint, and Ward's blood, just like his armor.  Fully assembled, from the rear of the stock to the end of the rail armatures, the device was almost seven feet long.

Fyrenn had clocked its weight at nearly three hundred and seventy five pounds.  Most of that stemmed from the capacitors, which were incredibly dense owing to the way he had assembled them for maximum speed of charging, and maximum capacity.

Unlike every other railgun Fyrenn had ever seen, the monstrosity was built as a bolt-action weapon.  He had tried to utilize a traditional automatic maglock feeding cartridge, but the force of the armatures was so great that it had a tendency to rip the entire breech, and clip, to shreds.

Far to his right, out of the lateral range of the directed firing field, lay five immense rounds.  The twenty millimeter cartridge, like the weapon, was custom made.  Fyrenn had several hundred in his satchel, of which twenty five, including one of the five on the rooftop, were marked with a red caution stripe interspersed with white bars.

The rounds felt almost normal in his claws.  Though ridiculously outsized for a Human-portable weapon, they reminded Fyrenn of the way a fifty caliber slug had felt in his Human hand in terms of relative scale.

Fyrenn redirected his attention to the circle of roadway adjacent to the tower's front steps.  Directly on the hour, a heavy APC pulled up, flanked in front and back by four up-armored jeeps.

The red Gryphon smiled grimly, as Commodore Sievers exited the building, flanked by no less than twelve armored guards.  She dashed across the courtyard accompanied by the phalanx, and leapt into the waiting APC.

Fyrenn focused his eyes on the vehicle's reflective slit window, and identified the other occupants.  Four guards in unmarked black armor, two of whom were Diamond Dog Trolls.  And a five star Earthgov General whom Fyrenn recognized from his after-action debriefings in Seattle.

He tapped his helmet's transmit key, and chuckled, sending the sound out to all nearby military frequencies.  He knew that the General, and the Commodore were receiving, given that they stiffened and blanched.

"General Inselm Warluf.  I'm sure Danica has informed you about me, but think back just a little further.  We met in Seattle.  After Vancouver."

The man paused, then leaned forward, and took the headset from one of his Human bodyguards, holding it up and depressing the transmit key as his eyes narrowed.

"I don't care what species you are son...  I will have your head blown open like a melon if you keep this shit up."

Fyrenn made a clicking sound deep in his beak, masking the sound of the rifle's bolt as he threaded in one of the unmarked shells, and locked it firmly into place.

"Funny you should use such an apropos metaphor."

The general gestured emphatically to his driver, and the convoy peeled out, traversing the majority of the circular drive quickly.

The red Gryphon shook his head, and moved his right index talon onto the trigger.  With a roar that hurt his ears, and shattered nearby windows, the rifle discharged the slug at a speed approaching twenty three times the speed of sound.

The round flew from the rooftop and struck the front jeep in the convoy at such speed, that even under maximum time dilation it seemed to happen within a matter of seconds to Fyrenn.

The vehicle disintegrated under the stress of impact, blowing apart into several large chunks, which brought the remainder of the convoy to a swift, jarring halt.  Fyrenn waited patiently for the remaining vehicles to kick into reverse, as he loaded another shell calmly.

As soon as the convoy had made it halfway back around the circle, he casually blew away the rearmost jeep, causing the next in line to collide with the debris, and flip several times.  

The concussion wave knocked people standing on the building's steps to their knees.  Metal and glass flew in all directions like a silvery cloud of snow.

With much greater speed, Fyrenn quickly dispatched the other two jeeps, leaving the APC completely boxed in by huge chunks of flaming wreckage.

As the echoes of the discharges, and the impacts, died away slowly, he spoke into his headset with a deadly calm monotone.

"Surrender or die."

Fyrenn drummed his claws absently on the gravel beside the fifth, marked, final shell.  At last, Warluf's voice came back over his headset, laden with fear and desperation, and completely devoid of the arrogance it had once held.

"Alright! Alright!  What do you want?!  Information?!  For us to call off the hounds?!  What are your terms?"

Fyrenn sighed, and threaded the last shell, leaving his microphone on vox setting to ensure the sound carried across the airwaves.

"Unfortunately for you two?  I have simpler ways of getting the information I require.  And I most certainly do not fear your hounds.  I have only one condition.  Die."

Fyrenn squeezed the trigger, lurching slightly as the weapon's immense kickback was diffused into his body, and the rooftop.

The final shell took almost a picosecond longer to cross the three and a half miles from Fyrenn's rooftop, to the Naval offices, and reach its target.  Due mostly to the added weight of its contents.  The forward part of the device split like a peeled orange as it passed perfectly through the armored window in the APC's side.

The shell continued totally unabated, until it encountered the exact center point between Warluf's eyes.  In an ironic twist on his earlier word's the man's head split like a melon.  And then the shell exploded.

The round's white-phosphorous content spewed everywhere, autoigniting from the sheer leftover kinetic energy of the shell.

Fyrenn had carefully mixed the raw substance with a series of basic compounds that Gryphons used to mediate black powder reactions for tempering steel, and alloy.  As a result, rather than simply burning off instantly, the substance behaved like a twisted combination of solar gases, and sticky napalm.

It adhered to every single surface inside the APC;  Armor, wall paneling, and flesh.  It burned with an intensity so great, that there was no time for pain, nor torturous gruesome injury.  Everything was reduced within seconds to a molten, indiscriminate, colorless sludge.

Thousands of degrees of cleansing white fire reduced all to completely unidentifiable ash, and slag.  Fyrenn was not concerned.  The conversation had taken place on an open channel.  The event would assuredly become a matter of military record, for better or for worse.

The white phosphorous hybrid substance ate halfway through the outside armoring of the APC itself before exhausting the majority of its chemical energy, setting the remainder of the vehicle on fire with such heat, that Fyrenn could see it melting the glass of windows ten yards away.

He rose, checked the rifle, and patted the stock lovingly.

"Not bad for a home baked remedy."
> Chapter 50
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 3rd, Gregorian Calendar

"It's quarter till midnight.  I don't think anyone except beta-shift are awake.  And the Gryphon you were asking about?  He hasn't been back since earlier in the day.  That's his berth right there."

The Ensign winced as his escort's claws dug into the skin of his shoulder, popping several seams on his uniform in the process.  The immense creature lowered its muzzle to his ear, and spoke in a tone so low, it was at the same time nigh inaudible, yet chillingly clear.

"Unlock the door."

The man flinched, but dutifully typed in his officer's over-ride code.  The Diamond Dog tightened his grip even further, before releasing it.

"Remain silent, and remain here.  If you leave this bulkhead?  If you make so much as a single sound of any kind...  I will devour you.  Alive."

The officer watched, unable to move, and barely able to breathe, as the lumbering black shape made its way to the door in total silence.  In spite of its terrifying bulk, the Diamond Dog was able to rotate the door's latch, and push the panel to the side, without making any more noise than the familiar sound of boots against deck plating.

The Lupine paused, sniffed at the air, and silently extracted a pair of gray clamp-like devices from the satchel at his back; 
One fairly large, the other small.  Without further ado, he lunged forward, and the devices snapped shut with a slight hiss, click, and the whine of high powered electromagnets.

The Ensign flinched as the sounds of a hushed, short-lived scuffle reached his ears.  The man blanched as the Diamond dog emerged from the compartment, with a familiar shape clutched under his left arm.

The old scars on his muzzle were overlain with fresh, exceedingly deep, long cuts that were still oozing grayish-red blood.  One of the injuries had come within mere centimeters of removing the Lupine's left eye.  He also sported a large missing chunk from his left shoulder, and a new notch in his tail.

The Ensign shook his head, as the sight of April's condition hit home.  Her beak was clamped firmly shut with the smaller of the two maglocks.  The larger of the pair had been devoted to her wings.  The Diamond Dog had then obviously set about withdrawing more clamps for her forelegs and hind legs, and in the process received his newest injuries.

"No, no you *can't,* she just---"

The Diamond Dog growled, and narrowed his eyes.

"I no longer find you useful, flesh-bag."

Before the Ensign could move, or even make an attempt at crying out, the Lupine reached out with his free claw, and crushed the man's neck into oblivion.  The creature spared a moment to catch the falling corpse, and pull it over the threshold into Fyrenn's quarters.

Finally, the Diamond Dog withdrew a small DaTab, placed it in the officer's front pocket, then retreated to the corridor and shut the door silently.  April squirmed, and tried to call out, but the Lupine placed a firm claw on her throat, preventing air from reaching her syrinx in sufficient quantities to produce a loud noise.

The Lupine strode purposefully down the corridor until he reached the nearest large junction.  A collection of empty supply crates occupied the space, and the Diamond Dog swiftly unlatched the cover to the largest, dropping April unceremoniously inside.

April lashed out with her cuffed forelegs as she fell, placing another five inch gash in the Diamond Dog's left shoulder.  He growled, and slammed his uninjured shoulder into April's side, eliciting a grimace of pain from the young Gryphon.

"Keep your claws off me, you damn dirty fledgling."

The container was intended to transport frozen foods, making it airtight, heavily insulated, and by extension virtually soundproof.  The Lupine snapped the lid into place, and secured its heavy magnetic locks, before April could squirm her way out, or voice a cry for help.

The Diamond Dog winced, and shifted his shoulder guard to cover his injury.  He hefted the crate, flipped down his opaque visor, and strode directly to the ship's nearest gangway.

Not one single member of the North Carolina's crew challenged the jet-black Lupine as he disembarked onto the pier, and vanished into the night.  They had no particular reason to do so.  His gunmetal gray armor bore a distinctive red stripe, and four white letters.  'JRSF.'





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 4th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn sighed, and rolled his shoulders, trying to work the exhaustion and soreness from his muscles.  A hot shower seemed like an appealing option, but he decided it could wait until morning.  Given that it was half-past midnight, April was likely sound asleep already.

The red Gryphon carefully depressed the latch to his quarters, and stiffened as a distinctive scent reached his nostrils.  Death.  The smell of freshly spilled blood.

He ripped open the steel panel and darted into the compartment, drawing his sword in the process.  The hollow stare of a dead man greeted him.  His rank bars identified him as an Ensign.

The corpse had been placed face-up on the bunk, and a small DaTab was tucked partially into his front right pocket.  April was nowhere to be seen.

Fyrenn's breathing quickened, and his heart-rate soared.  The heat of a metabolism thrown into overdrive exploded across his chest, and his vision seemed to elongate slightly.  Time slowed, and information began to process itself at an astonishing rate as his brain discarded everything but the moment, and its vital tasks.

He sheathed his sword, reached across the body, and plucked up the DaTab.  The device's accelerometer triggered an autodial program, and the screen blinked a slow, steady indicator symbol as the line established itself.

The instant there was a secure connection, a deep gravelly voice came through the device.

"Thirty Seven, Sixty First Street.  Room Nine Two Three Nine Five, Ninety Second floor.  Fifteen Minutes.  Arrive alone, and unarmed, or she dies."

The call terminated instantly, leaving no room for a response.

Fyrenn stood rooted the spot for almost a full two seconds, before clenching his right claw, reducing the hardened steel and plastic of the DaTab to tiny shredded chips.  He turned, and narrowed his eyes as a figure blocked his path to the corridor.

Neyla's face was taught with rage, and anxiety.  Her ears lay completely flat, and the muscles of her wings rippled visibly from the tension.

Fyrenn voiced a single word.  His tone was abrupt, and seemingly emotionless.

"How."

Neyla shook her head once, and spoke, her voice remaining on a similarly toneless and even keel.

"I don't know.  No alarm was raised.  I heard no sound from across the corridor.  The door was fully locked and bolted."

Fyrenn nodded curtly, and pushed past the Gryphoness into the corridor.  Neyla surprised him by reaching out, and firmly arresting his progress with her right claw.

"No.  You are not going to face this alone.  It is likely to be a trap."

The red Gryphon growled deep in his chest, and dismissed Neyla's claw roughly with a twist of his shoulder.

"There is no question that it is a trap.  She is meant to die, as am I.  That was most likely the reason for removing her to a secluded, enclosed location, and for the shortened window of time.  No space to use my wings.  No line of sight for supporting fire.  No time to formulate a backup plan."

Neyla snagged Fyrenn's shoulder once more, digging her claws firmly into the inner lining of his backplate to fully arrest his forward motion.

"All the more reason I should go with you."

Fyrenn hissed, and glowered, flaring his wings slightly and swishing his tail.

"I don't blame you for what happened.  But I won't have you inadvertently causing April's death because you're unwilling to see me die for her.  Not after all I've gone through to---"

Neyla tightened her grip roughly, dragging Fyrenn back half a pace until his beak was within centimeters of hers.  The Gryphoness' tone dipped into a low, dangerous range, laden with crackling arcs of barely-restrained fury.

"After all *WE* have gone through.  You may still be working through your various issues, but that doesn't change the fact that I am as much the only mother she has, as you are the only father.  I will not have *you* inadvertently causing her death because you're too damn stubborn and fixated to admit that you need my help, do you understand me?!"

For a brief moment, Fyrenn and Neyla held each other in a fiery gaze.  At last, however, Fyrenn sighed, and glanced away.  Neyla released his armor plating, and exhaled slowly.

"It will take us six minutes to reach the specified location, meaning we have time to collect a limited amount of gear."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and unslung his new rifle, passing it carefully to the Gryphoness.

"Have you ever used a bolt-action weapon before?"





Councilor Loryss paused as her DaTab flashed, and vibrated, indicating an incoming communication.  She sat back in her seat, and pulled the sedan's door closed.  As she accepted the encrypted transmission, she gestured to her driver through the soundproof barrier.

The man nodded, and exited the car, standing dutifully beside it, arms folded behind him.  The DaTab chirruped, and a familiar voice issued forth.

"I have secured your missing asset.  You were correct.  She has since been given Gryphon Potion.  She put up a fight."

Loryss rolled her eyes, and sighed.

"Don't expect any added compensation.  I do not pay by the flesh wound.  Contact me when you have proof of death for both the asset, and the red Gryphon."

The voice on the other end let out a rasping sound.  It took Loryss a full three seconds to recognize it as a chuckle.  She shivered involuntarily.  The Councilor had never heard the Lupine express anything other than stoic anger.

"The chance to snap the red Gryphon's neck is compensation enough."

Loryss shivered again, and closed the channel, opening her door as the first drops of an evening storm began to fall.  The weather system had been generated to the south, and west, so it was laden with mild acid rain, rather than the refreshing clear water of an Equestrian weather system.

The driver dutifully snapped open an umbrella, and moved to cover the Councilor as she exited the vehicle.  She sighed, glanced up at her apartment building, and reflected that she would soon need to make arrangements for new accommodations.





The elevator chimed softly as the door hissed open.  Fyrenn stiffened as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.  The corridor was bare.  A concrete and steel box stripped of all useful materials.

A jet black figure resolved itself from a shadow in the corner, one paw lazily draped over the corner of a sealed crate.

"Your kind is so idiotically predictable.  You know I've asked you here to kill both you, and the fledgling.  And yet rather than doing the only reasonable thing, rather than saving yourself to fight another day, on your own terms...  You come here in a fruitless attempt to save the young one.  Pathetic."

Fyrenn exhaled sharply, and focused his eyes directly on the Lupine's muzzle, running over the familiar features again, and again, in a vain attempt to subdue his disbelief.

"Kryn?!  I threw you off a building... You were---"

The Lupine chuckled, and shook his head, interrupting in a soft, almost conspiratorial tone.

"I was stronger than you gave me credit for.  Strong enough to drag myself clear.  I heard rumors that you escaped as well, but I certainly never imagined I would be paid to carry out my vengeance."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, his eyes darting first left, then right, as a pair of Trolls and a Vulpine emerged from the nearest doorways.  Each was fully kitted in matte black unmarked combat armor.  Each carried a large hooked pike.

The red Gryphon tensed, and rose to his hind legs.  He felt strangely light without his armor, and his sword.  At the same time, he felt somehow liberated by the battle chemicals coursing through his body.  Intellectually he knew it was a combat-high.  But that didn't change the fact that it gave him an edge in some small way.

"So you switched sides.  Last time I saw you, the PER were tugging your strings.  Now you work for pro-Humanists."

Kryn snorted, and rolled his eyes, flexing his shoulders casually.

"I work for whomever pays well.  The Human Government pays exceedingly well.  In spite of their best attempts to create a flesh-bag who could stand a chance in a fight with one of us?  They somehow still seem to recognize that you should never send prey to do a predator's job."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and stepped into the hallway, beginning a series of elegant, slow, close-quarters circling motions with the immense Lupine.

"And that's why you find it difficult to understand why I'm here.  Your selfishness is your impetus, like so many others of your ilk.  I came here to free April...  But I'll sure as hell settle for snapping you like a toothpick as an intermediary step.  I beat you once before."

Kryn chuckled, and tightened up his movements, bringing him to within a foot of Fyrenn as the two continued to circle lazily.

"You threw me off a building, and I survived.  What more could you do to me?"

Fyrenn smiled, and his eyes narrowed.

"Come a little closer, and I'll show you.  You took my fledgling.  That makes this all very simple.  We'll tussle, you'll injure me, I'll injure you...  And then I'll break your pelvis, shatter half of your ribs, dislocate both shoulders, and rip out your knee caps."

The red Gryphon lowered his tone as he and Kryn crossed to within inches of each other.

"And then I'm going to cut off your tail, gag you with it, and skin you alive.  Using field stims to keep you conscious.  When that's done, I'll cut out your eyelids, and crucify you to the outside of this building, with a bolt gun, to rot in the rain.  But not before I make you watch every, single, last one of your stoogies die."

Kryn brought his muzzle to within an inch of Fyrenn's ear, and whispered.

"Oh? And just how do you plan on beating four-to-one odds."

Fyrenn's grin widened, and he held up a claw.

"Two-to-one."

The red Gryphon closed his claw, and lunged.  The surprise of the maneuver, combined with the peculiarity of his words, gave him a fractional moment of advantage.  He swatted at Kryn's face, tearing open the fresh wounds April had left there only a short while before.

As the Lupine staggered backwards, the Gryphon pulled away, making a dive for April's crate.  The Vulpine foolishly attempted to come between Fyrenn and his objective.  The red Gryphon reached out and effortlessly snagged the creature's weapon, snapping it as though its steel shaft were made of balsa.

Fyrenn tossed one half of the weapon over his shoulder, momentarily blocking one of the rushing Trolls.  The second half he threw like a javelin, pinning the offending Vulpine to the wall behind the crate.

A ear splitting 'CRACK' filled the air, and the creature's skull exploded into a fine mist, just as Kryn managed to regain his faculties.  The shock of the moment brought the Lupine to a halt, just long enough for another resounding impact sound to fill the hall.

The plaster of the nearest wall sprayed outwards from a fist-sized breach, and the Troll immediately behind Fyrenn went down in a violent explosion of bone and blood.

Kryn lunged toward the red Gryphon, but abruptly found himself faced with a large gray and black mass.  Before the Lupine could react to stop himself, he found he had plunged his extended claws directly into the skull of the last Troll.

Fyrenn released the corpse's shoulders, and allowed his impromptu shield to fall away.

"You made a serious error in judgement.  Your 'target' has a mother too.  And you've made her very, very angry.  That's a truly poor choice of enemies.  I gave her my rifle.  And a thermal scope, that's good for up to six thousand yards, through nine or ten concrete walls.  She does not believe in mercy.  And she does not miss."

Kryn closed to grappling distance as swiftly as he could.  The maneuver was intelligent on many levels.  It allowed the Lupine to leverage the close confines of the corridor, together with his vastly superior strength, and weight.

It also allowed him to make his thermal signature more difficult to distinguish from Fyrenn's.  The red Gryphon realized that regardless of how swiftly Neyla made her way into the building, his fight would be over by then.  One way or another.

Fyrenn hated fighting in confined spaces.  A Gryphon's natural advantages, as compared to other Equestrian races, were mostly tied up in their capacity for flight.  Fyrenn's strength and durability seemed god-like by Human standards, but they were nothing whatsoever compared to Kryn's, by a similar ratio of differentiation.

The Gryphon's agility, speed, and reflexes could make Kryn look as if he were mired in cement from Fyrenn's perspective, but to be fully effective, Fyrenn needed space.  Space he didn't have.

He had to use his beak and both foreclaws to keep Kryn from biting out his throat.  That left only his wings and back claws as offensive weapons.  The two creatures tumbled, rolled, and lunged through the corridor, smashing their way through walls and support beams as if they were nothing more than tissue curtains.

Fyrenn batted at Kryn's head with his wings.  The Lupine's lack of corresponding limbs left his skull open to the savage beating, but Kryn was exceedingly durable.  Fyrenn began to wonder which he was damaging more;  His wing joints, or the Lupine's skull.

He found he could only make use of his back claws in intermediate spurts.  Half the time, he needed them for stability.  Kryn was faced with the same conundrum.  Nevertheless, the two beings managed to place several gashes into each other's chests and legs that would eventually prove fatal due to blood loss, if left untreated.

Both combatants quickly realized that their environment was a vital resource.  While the walls and parts of the support structure were too flimsy to do any damage, some of the larger structural beams were strong enough to present a useful crushing surface.

Initially it seemed as if the advantage would belong to Kryn.  His greater mass, size, and strength allowed him to throw Fyrenn's relatively light frame around like a toy.  The red Gryphon took several heavy hits as his back, injured wing, and one foreclaw were repeatedly rammed against a four foot thick steel upright.

Almost immediately, however, Kryn realized that his advantages were negated.  Fyrenn, for his part, realized that he had no sense of his pain whatsoever.  While Kryn had some conception of the fact, he found himself far more concerned with Fyrenn's ability to flex his body into amazing contortions, that the Lupine's body simply could not mimic.

Not only did that allow Fyrenn to significantly decrease the amount of damage Kryn could do using nearby hard surfaces, but it allowed the Gryphon to lodge his beak firmly in the Lupine's shoulder wound.

Fyrenn clamped down with all of the considerable force his jaws could muster, and then ripped, putting every one of his neck muscles into the motion.  The maneuver cut deep, severing bones, muscles, tendons, and blood vessels.

Kryn almost immediately lost the ability to precisely control his left foreleg.  Pain exploded across his entire body, as if someone had poured salt into the wounds April had given him.  Fyrenn hissed, and grinned, pulling away as Kryn reeled backwards.  The Gryphon waited calmly for the Lupine to pick himself up, and refocus his eyes.

As Kryn got back on his hind legs, Fyrenn screeched, and lunged forward.

"You laid your paws on my daughter!  For that?  You will endure MUCH more pain before I permit you to die.  I'm going to make an example of you that your whole SPECIES will tremble to remember!"

In spite of his renewed furor, Fyrenn again found himself disadvantaged by the combat space.  Kryn, for his part, seemed to redouble his efforts.  His pain gave him a reserve of strength in the same way Fyrenn's rage empowered him.

Fyrenn winced as the Lupine once again scraped against his sore wing.  Kryn noticed the gesture, and poured all his efforts into doing damage to the limb.  While his sense of pain was more or less disabled, some of the tertiary effects of the trauma bled through nonetheless.

The red Gryphon found it difficult to precisely make use of his limbs in the aftermath of the pounding.  It was as though the impulses which should have translated to pain had overwhelmed his muscular control.  It felt something like the sensation of a limb going to sleep, or a caffeine overdose.

Fyrenn paused, briefly fought with himself on his next course of action, then gave in to the sensation.

The opening was all Kryn needed.  He bounded forward, and shoved Fyrenn to the floor, pinning his wings down with his foreclaws, and savagely biting at Fyrenn's own forelegs.

Fyrenn clawed at Kryn's chest with his back paws, but the action produced no useful results.  The ribbing and muscles in the area were too tough, and Fyrenn's angle of attack was too shallow.

Kryn smiled, and growled.

"Now perhaps *I* will make an example of *you.*  I don't see you throwing me off this building...  So let me hear you beg for your life.  Before I snuff it out."

Fyrenn coughed, and shook his head, his eyes fixating on a point over Kryn's right shoulder.

"No.  Beg for *yours.*"

Kryn began to turn to the side, thereby placing his left eye in precisely the right position.

April hit the Diamond Dog with all the force her young back legs, and wings, could muster on short notice.  She instinctively let out a war-keen as her extended talons raked deep into Kryn's skull, eviscerating his left eye and ear beyond repair instantaneously.

Fyrenn pushed up and out, flipping the Diamond Dog away into a dazed stagger.  April latched on with all of her claws, and her beak, ripping, tearing, and beating at Kryn violently without reservation, though Fyrenn noted with pride that she seemed to be very strategic in her actions, not at all blinded by her anger.

The red Gryphon lashed out with a claw, and snagged a broken piece of steel reinforcement strut.  He closed with Kryn, who was frantically and unsuccessfully trying to get the vicious fledgling off his back.

Fyrenn nodded to April, who dropped off the Lupine just in time for his first blow to hit home.  While Fyrenn's greatest display of strength could never match even half of Kryn's total strength, it was still more than enough to do severe damage combined with the leverage of a blunt steel object.

Fyrenn lashed out over and over, ruthlessly beating Kryn's chest so swiftly, that the Diamond Dog was unable to move quickly enough to block the flurry of blows.  Ribs cracked like trees before and axe, and Kryn crashed to his knees in indescribable agony, screaming loudly enough to rattle the nearest doorposts.

Fyrenn dropped the steel bar, reached out with both wings and foreclaws, and took Kryn's right shoulder.  With a gargantuan twist, and a grunt, he popped the bones out of joint.  As the Lupine fell to his side, tears of pain streaming down his muzzle, Fyrenn repeated the procedure with his left shoulder.

The Gryphon spat, and rammed Kryn's head down with his back right paw, forcing his legs to splay out.  As he clutched both foreclaws into wicked curves, he smiled.

"I warned you this is what would happen.  I warned you, *exactly,* what would happen."

Without further ado, the red Gryphon reached down, fueled purely by the white hot fire of his rage, and ripped Kryn's kneecaps clean out.

As the Lupine collapsed entirely into a fetal position, falling unconscious from the sheer trauma to his body, Fyrenn's battle-fury abruptly subsided back into the pool of icy cold, clear anger that had been driving him for days.

He sidelined all other emotions, and collapsed beside April, pulling her close with both wings, and forelegs, and weeping tears of relief with absolute abandon.  Silence descended, save for the soft rattle of the rain against the building's roof.

The peace was nearly shattered as Neyla came bounding up through the nearest stairwell, Fyrenn's rifle slung between her wings.  She paused, staring at the scene of total carnage, before rushing forward, and collapsing into the group hug.

For the third time in a short span, Fyrenn found himself flooded with an array of dizzying affectionate, and longing emotions.

The moment lasted for several minutes, before the three Gryphons finally separated.  Fyrenn ruffled the feathers behind April's ears, and grinned.

"How in the blazes did you get out of that crate?"

April giggled, and returned the mischievous smile.

"Oh it was worse than that.  He had me mag-cuffed.  Beak, wings, front, and back legs.  But Minos used to use those all the time as a training exercise.  I've been getting out of higher grade restraints for years.  Sometimes under water."

Fyrenn glanced over at Kryn's limp, but still breathing form.

"Well, I promise you this much...  No one else on this planet will be dumb enough to come after you ever again.  Not after I'm done with him."

The red Gryphon strode over, and began rifling through Kryn's armor.  His eyes lit up as his claw hit upon a DaTab.  He pulled the device free, and secreted it in the feathers of his neck where it would be invisible and safe.

Neyla placed a gentle arresting claw on his shoulder, and shook her head slowly.

"You're bleeding badly.  I need to bandage you before you do anything else.  And then you have to promise me you'll let Chandler do a complete work-up tomorrow morning.

Fyrenn opened his beak to protest, saw the hard edge in Neyla's eyes, and exhaled slowly.

"Fine.  Though I know exactly what she'll say; 'Stay calm and still for two weeks...' Never gonna happen by the way, and 'None of your injuries are serious enough to leave more than a few hidden scars.'  Though I'll admit...  That was a painfully near thing."

The red Gryphon collapsed to his side, and allowed Neyla to go to work.  The Gryphoness had packed her satchel with an emergency JRSF-issue medical kit, in addition to the ammunition for Fyrenn's rifle, and she worked with the scabbie foam, bandages, and herbs as if she were a natural.

April walked over to Kryn's body, and glowered, giving his shoulder an experimental kick.

"Are you really gonna do what you said?  Skin him alive and bolt him out in the rain?"

Fyrenn's gaze hardened, and his beak turned down, leaving no possible doubt as to the strict veracity of his one-word response.

"Absolutely."





Councilor Loryss flinched slightly as her screen illuminated with several urgent messages, accompanied by a jarring series of notification alarms.

She inhaled deeply, and exhaled slowly to calm her nerves.  Once she was sure her demeanor was sufficiently under control, the Councilor reached out and tapped several keys on her desk.  The room went dim as the windows tinted, the door locked, and all forms of internal security surveillance were disabled.

The screen's interface split into a half-dozen audio waveforms.  A soft spoken male voice began the conversation.

"We did our best to secure the site...  But the media had already arrived some thirty minutes ago.  Someone tipped them off."

A female voice spoke next, edged with concern, bordering on panic.

"Considering what happened to Warluf and Sievers?  I'm not sure there is *anything* I can do on this end.  If I refuse to allow these stories to run, it will draw attention to my office...  And it would make no difference in the end.  This is already on every fringe-thinking political web site out there.  It is only a matter of minutes before it is plastered all over GNN."

A stronger, harsher male voice came through swiftly, and decisively.

"Your asset failed to accomplish his task, Councilor.  No amount of damage control is going to prevent this from becoming public knowledge."

Loryss glared at the monitor, and leaned in over the desk, enunciating to make sure her point was delivered with sufficient force.

"I accept that this has gotten out of hand.  But I categorically refuse to conscien any suggestion that we shut down the program.  If we move swiftly to evacuate and disperse all assets, we have a unique opportunity to hang this mess around our opponents' necks, and divert suspicion."

The Councilor sat back, and steepled her fingers.  

"As the dust clears, we will put political pressure on the remainder of the Council to cover over any other information they possess, in order to prevent a scandal.  You do not shoot a person simply because of one tumor.  You merely excise the infected tissue.  Is that understood?"

A long silence told Loryss that there would be no objections.  She nodded curtly, and folded her hands on the desk.

"Now.  Before we sign off this evening, I want a comprehensive plan in place for a full scale withdrawal and dispersal."





The sun peaked over the horizon just as Fyrenn, Neyla, and April alighted on the Battleship's foredeck.

Before he quite knew what had happened, Fyrenn found himself face to face with Kephic's snarling visage.  The Speckled Gryphon hissed, and flared his wings.

"Don't you EVER, I mean *EVER* pull something like that again!"

A long, and awkward pause ensued, before Fyrenn found himself constricted by both of Kephic's wings.  He returned the hug gingerly, trying to avoid putting excess pressure on his impromptu bandages.

The speckled Gryphon released his brother, and offered him a wry smile, before kneeling, and scooping up April into a similarly enthusiastic embrace.  Fyrenn found himself unexpectedly accosted by Varan.

Though the golden Gryphon was not normally given over to physical displays of emotion, Fyrenn had discovered that he was more open when it came to members of his family.  As his sibling pulled away, and joined Kephic in tending to April, Fyrenn noticed Sildinar standing near the island structure, looking on with a bemused smile.

Fyrenn began to make his way across the deck, but found himself abruptly facing a veritable assault from Stan, and Skye.

The Unicorn delivered a painful hoof to the Gryphon's side, glowering.

"You are NUTS!  Don't you ever scare us that way again!"

Carradan snorted, and tossed his head in Kephic's direction, then Skye's.

"Yeah.  What he said, and what she said."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and allowed his ears to cant back slightly.

"Are you quite finished?  Because I just finished taking a hell of a beating.  And I'd like to shower and get some real medical attention, if it pleases your highnessess."

Stan inclined his head, stiffening his muzzle and throwing it up into the air at a ridiculous angle.  His attempt at forcing a posh accent onto his Brooklyn drawl nearly put Fyrenn into a fit of laughter.

"You are dismissed, my good sir.  Go ye forth and screweth up no more."

Fyrenn sighed, and rolled his eyes as Skye dug a hoof into Carradan's side, and snorted.  The Pegasus gagged, and rolled over onto his side.

"Verily!  I am betrayed!"

The red Gryphon allowed a small chuckle to escape, before finally closing the distance to Sildinar.  The roan Gryphon offered him a gentler, brief embrace.  Fyrenn smiled, and inclined his head towards the group, who were all clustered protectively around April, plying her for the harrowing recounting of her incredible escape.

"She is amazing."

Sildinar nodded, and shot Fyrenn a sideways glance.

"That one will grow up to be a feared and respected warrior, you mark my words.  It was no accident she came under your care Fyrenn."

The red Gryphon sighed, and inclined his head as he laid his right claw on the hatchway.

"There is a plan in everything.  Speaking of which, please look after her while I get the blood and plaster off.  Then I promised Neyla I would let the doctor poke and prod me for no good reason, so expect that to take an hour or so, then I'm getting some well deserved sleep.  Plan to have everyone assembled in the officers' conference room for the evening meal.  And call Hutch too, make sure he's there."

Sildinar nodded, and tilted his head.

"What are your intentions?"

Fyrenn cast a grim look over his right shoulder as he stepped into the corridor.

"Turn on the news.  You'll get the gist of my strategy pretty quickly."
> Chapter 51
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 4th, Gregorian Calendar

Minos drummed his fingers on the steel surface of the table, then leaned forward, and narrowed his eyes.  The room was wreathed in shadow, save for the piercingly bright lamp hung above the table.  The arrangement cast both his face, and his contact's face, in a strange lurid study of contrasts.

"I want to make sure I understand this.  You want my Echelon...  A legitimate government agency...  To help you commit what is, essentially, an act of global terrorism?  Why should we even associate with you at all?  You're all a bunch of nutty extremists who nearly murdered several million people.  We have nothing in common."

Mr. Utah leaned forward, his head wreathed in a halo of cigarette smoke.

"First correction;  I do not want your assistance.  I require it.  The decision has already been made by your superiors on the Council.  You are only here to act as a facilitator on my behalf."

The man sat back, and took a pull on his cigarette before continuing.

"Second correction;  We share certain distinct goals.  We both want Humanity to set its own course, free of...  'External entanglements.'  We both want to bring globalization of Conversion to a stop.  My organization has access to research that affords us the ability to accomplish these goals.  Your organization possesses the Naval resources we need to carry out our task."

Mr. Utah jammed the butt of his cigarette into the table, and twisted it viciously as he continued in a slightly sterner tone.

"Your Echelon has proven that it is willing to attack other arms of the Earthgov to do what needs to be done.  There's no point in spewing self righteous platitudes to the contrary.  We both know that you and I exist for the same reason.  To dirty ourselves with things that others can not, or will not."

Minos sat drumming his fingers for several more moments, before letting out a sigh, and sitting back.  He folded his arms, and raised one eyebrow.

"Naval resources huh?  What do you need Project Agincourt for, exactly, anyhow?"

Mr. Utah took another drag of his cigarette, and exhaled a large cloud of smoke towards the opposite side of the table.

"Agincourt has extensive area-denial electronic warfare suites that can protect our operation from remote bombardment.  A lone submarine is hardly a match for a Battleship, and her escorts."





Fyrenn stood in the hatchway and watched as the group clustered around the wall screen at the far end of the briefing room.  He stretched his wings, and back legs in sequence, reveling in the feeling of clean feathers, loose muscles, and well-treated wounds.

Though Doctor Chandler had extensively scanned and tested him, she had begrudgingly admitted that while Fyrenn's injuries were indeed serious, they presented no potential for long-term side-effects or latent damage.

He sighed, and smirked slightly as he noted that the Global News Network felt a need to censor portions of Kryn's body due to the excessively gruesome nature of his injuries.  The story had been running as a lead headline for hours, together with the images surrounding the deaths of Warluf, Sievers, Ward, and Fyrenn's other victims.  The media were starting to draw their own connections between the individuals, beyond their deaths at Fyrenn's claws.

The red Gryphon had taken pains to ensure that he was recorded by surveillance equipment at, or near, the scene of every execution.  Combined with the public record of his open-mic conversation with Warluf, the story had gained critical mass within hours, continuing to snowball as the media latched on, and began to dig in earnest.

Before he had left his berth, Fyrenn had taken a few minutes to browse web-based headlines.  The media had swiftly made the connection between his images on camera, and his identity, lending the story even more dramatic tension.

Critics seemed to be divided, heatedly, on whether he was to be commended as a soldier of conscience, protecting the people from a government corrupt to the core, or a rogue subversive heartlessly murdering innocent officers in cold blood.

While no one had yet fully grasped the nature of the connections between the corpses, rumors and speculation were beginning to brew as the media began to tug on legitimate threads.

In the wake of Vancouver, many people were already beginning to blame pro-Humanist subversives from within the government, which was not far off the mark by Fyrenn's estimation.  The public's opinion seemed to have begun to split strongly, with very few in the moderate center.

Carradan averted his eyes and shook his head slowly.  He abruptly noticed Fyrenn, and fixed him with a piercing gaze.

"Would you have really done that to me?  It looks an awful lot like what you said you'd do...  All those years ago..."

Fyrenn shook his head quietly as he stepped fully into the room, and seated himself at the end of the table.

"Never.  You were a pain in the ass when I met you, but you certainly weren't evil.  Not the way he was.  Sometimes good ol' fashioned wordy threats and bluffs have useful value.  Do you think it would have gone nearly as well if you had run your story on behalf of the enemy?"

Carradan chuckled, and his demeanor relaxed.  April darted under the table, and came up under Fyrenn's right wing, nestling into his side and sighing contentedly.

Fyrenn smiled down at the fledgling, then glanced up at each person around the table in turn.  Hutch seemed to be vaguely disturbed by what he had seen.  Skye looked disgusted, but only in a physical sense.  Fyrenn thought he saw a hint of satisfaction in her eyes.  Kephic was smirking, and Varan was dispassionate as ever, an expression shared for the most part by Sildinar.

The red Gryphon sighed, and closed his eyes briefly.

"I've accomplished much of what I set out to do.  I kicked and prodded...  And now we're going to get a full reaction out of this 'Twelfth Echelon.'  I aimed to scare them, and after this?  Their only option is to run.  It will be hastily organized, and easy to spot...  And therefore a prime target for us."

Fyrenn sat back, and pulled April closer with his right wing.

"I can't bring this to an end alone.  Not without unnecessary casualties.  Some of you agree with the measures I've taken.  Some of you don't.  And some of you have understandably mixed opinions.  But regardless, I'm asking all of you to help me now.  If we can succeed here, we'll doom their endeavour, and we'll save dozens of young lives today, and many thousands tomorrow."

Hutch leaned forward, and fixed his eyes on Fyrenn.  The General placed both hands on the table, and let several seconds of quiet tick past, before speaking.

"You're not wrong.  I'm not sure I would have been able to participate in some of what you've done.  I sure as hell can't fully condone it in good conscience..."

The General smiled slightly, and inclined his head.

"But I can't judge either.  You've proven at the very least that this goes all the way to the top, bottom, and sideways through the whole rotten mess of the government.  You're also absolutely right about saving lives now.  What's done is done, and only a fool wouldn't make the best of the hand he's been dealt.  Children's lives are at stake, and that's all that matters to me in the here and the now.  I can't follow you into this as an officer.  Or even as a concerned citizen."

Hutch sat back, and folded his arms.

"But I'll follow you as a friend."

Varan and Sildinar both dipped their heads in silent support.  Fyrenn shifted his eyes to Kephic, who snorted, and perked his ears.

"Do you really have to ask?"

Neyla simply raised an eyebrow, and that was answer enough.  Skye sighed, shook her head, and closed her eyes.

"There's no two ways about this one.  Count me in."

Carradan nodded firmly, and thumped one hoof against the table.

"You're not leavin' me out.  Besides...  It might not be such a bad idea for you to have a semi-sympathetic ear from someone with hefty media connections."

The Pegasus winked, and grinned wryly.  April squirmed to get Fyrenn's attention, and stared up at him with eyes as hard as steel, burning like miniature twin suns.

"You're taking me too.  I'm not gonna take the gift you gave me, and then just leave the others to die.  I've proven I can fight!"

Fyrenn opened his beak, prepared to raise all manner of potential objections based around April's youth, and inexperience.  Then it occurred to him that if she had been fighting her whole life, that she might well have half as much combat experience as he did, and then some.

It also swiftly occurred to him that if four maglock cuffs and a sealed crate couldn't contain the fledgling, then nothing on Earth could.  He sighed, and withdrew the DaTab from the feathers at his neck, throwing it onto the center of the table, and nodding at it.

"Right then.  We'll start with that.  Kryn didn't give me any useful information, but that was never the point.  The example I made served its end well enough.  But anything else we can learn from that might be useful in preparing for this."

Skye reached out with her magic, levitated the device, and began rotating it gently.  She squinted, and stuck her tongue out slightly over the right side of her muzzle.

"It's possible he didn't know how to erase recent data from RAM.  If it hasn't been shut off, we may be able to 're-dial' in a way, by pulling the latent memory of the last action off the chip and sending it straight back to the central processor."

Sildinar tilted his head, and narrowed his eyes.

"How long?"

Skye squinted, and concentrated, puncturing the device with multiple teal sparkling streamers of energy.

"In about Three...  Two...  One..."

The DaTab lit up, and a circular holding notification told the group that the object was attempting to establish a connection.  Skye gingerly set the device down in the center of the table, and Fyrenn reached out to press the speakerphone key with one talon.

Several moments of tense silence passed, then there was a chirrup, and a waveform filled the screen.  A moment later, a familiar voice burst from the speakers.

"Who is this?  State your authentication immediately."

Fyrenn's face twisted downward in a mask of barely concealed rage.  He snatched up the device, holding it close to his beak so his low, rumbling tone would carry clearly across the airwaves.

"I gave you fair warning Loryss.  You had a chance to walk away.  Accept the fair political and legal consequences for your actions, and spare your life.  But you tried to have my daughter killed.  There will be no mercy for you.  There will be no escape.  I will come for you.  I will make you suffer.  And then when you plead to make it end? I will string out what's left of you for the world to see."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed further, and his ears pinned back against his head.

"Put your life in order.  Tomorrow you will die."

The red Gryphon squeezed his claw shut, crushing the device into  fizzling, wrinkled mess of plastic, steel, and rubber.  He released the remains onto the table, and rose.

"We have work to do."





Lantry leaned forward, making his face larger on the opposite end of the call.  His tone flattened out, and he shook his head slowly.

"I agree, Councilor.  Wrenn is completely out of line.  But I'm also a man of the facts.  Here are two simple ones for you;  The first is that he was right.  We're facing a second instance of internal subversion in as many weeks.  If not for him?  We'd have child-murderers running part of our government unopposed."

Lantry raised an eyebrow, and stabbed his finger at the screen, causing Councilor Sakai to flinch reflexively.

"Second, and more importantly...  I'd direct your attention back to the psychological work-up I had done on him.  I've done a little extra reading.  I've examined the historical precedent among his kind, and I've looked at the reports on his actions.  In my professional estimation?"

The General sat back, and shook his head once more as he continued.

"It isn't tenable for us to deal with this until after the bodies stop dropping.  And even then, we have to be very politically savvy.  Kid gloves, not steel hammers.  I realize that sounds categorically unacceptable to someone in your position...  I felt the same way at first.  But the simple fact of the matter is?  Councilor?  We don't have the ability to contain him.  We literally can not afford, on any level, the kind of fallout it would create with the Kingdoms.  Particularly since we don't yet have a full handle on how many are compromised, and at what level.  Including consular."

Lantry snorted, and folded his arms, raising an eyebrow and injecting an imperative tone into his words.

"I am not about to permit any course of action that turns our most important tactical allies, into enemies, no matter how upset I am with one individual.  They, and the military credibility they give us with the other races, are the only things keeping us afloat against the tides of our adversaries.  If he isn't going to handle this with discretion?  Then we *have* to handle *him* with discretion."

Sakai sat perfectly still for several moments.  Lantry knew from experience that it was a strong indication that she was thinking over her next choice carefully, as she was always wont to do.

At last, the woman nodded slowly, and sighed.

"Based on your presentation of the facts, I will agree to stall further action until you feel the time is right.  But I caution you;  The Council will not be easily persuaded to behave reasonably in this matter.  After everything that has occurred recently, many feel we need to act swiftly and strongly to restore Human faith in Human institutions.  The Lieutenant Commander may be a regrettable casualty of that impetus."

Lantry sighed, and nodded his assent as he reached out to terminate the connection.

"Understood, Madam Councilor."





April tensed as she felt pressure on her right shoulder.  Sleep evaporated like mist, and she came bolt upright, tensing for combat.  A half second later, she relaxed, and let out a sigh.

The claw in question belonged to Kephic.  The fledgling sighed, and shook her head.

"I'm sorry.  I'm not sleeping very well..."

She craned her head to take in the darker corners of the compartment, before tilting it and perking one ear in curiosity.

"Where's Fyrenn?"

Kephic inclined his head towards the corridor, where Varan sat on his haunches, eyes locked firmly forward in his usual 'attention' stance.

"Waiting for you."

April rose and made her way to the door, under the shepherding impetus of Kephic's right wing, her tone and her expression both laden with curiosity and confusion.

"Waiting for me?"

The speckled Gryphon nodded, and gestured to the end of the corridor, as Varan slipped into a long stride ahead of the fledgling.  April narrowed her eyes slightly, and shot a questioning glance, first at the golden Gryphon, then back at Kephic.

Their expressionless masks told her that she would receive no answers until she arrived at their destination.

The three Gryphons moved silently to the nearest external hatch, single file, with nary a word spoken.  Varan snapped open his wings, and immediately took to the air as soon as he had the space to do so, wheeling lazily above the Battleship until April and Kephic joined him.

The group swung north-east, April firmly situated between the adult Gryphons in the formation position of an escorted dignitary.

For a few brief moments, questions as to their purpose faded from the fledgling's mind, as she drank in the absolute joy of flight once more.  Night had nearly come, and the sun was low on the Earth's westerly horizon.

Though it was not visible in the facing patch of Equestria's sky, the other world's sun left an incredible backscattering of royal blues, fiery reds, and deep orange tones in the space across the Barrier.

The three Gryphons flew at a sedate pace, reaching their destination in a matter of minutes.  Kephic and Varan seemed purposeful, yet unhurried.

April realized they had arrived, when her eyes picked out an open flame on the tallest rooftop within her sight line.  The building was situated at the extreme eastern end of the city;  The Barrier was less than a foot from beginning its consumption of the structure.

The fledgling started internally, as she realized how precise and incredible her vision had become.  Intellectually she understood the ocular power she possessed, but it still took her entirely by surprise at intervals.

She realized she could pick out individual tufts of Fyrenn's head feathers, as he circled the fire slowly.  Beside him sat Sildinar, and Neyla, both calmly fixated on the colors of the Equestrian sunset.

The fire itself seemed to be more of a hot bed of coals, cultivated in a metal basin, which had been set atop a hearth-like structure made of loose paving stones.  The entire arrangement was backed by several larger pieces of concrete, which looked to have been ripped directly from the building itself.

Kephic and Varan alit on the near-side of the construction, standing aside and maintaining impassive, expressionless positions of military attention.

April set down beside Fyrenn, and offered him a glance equal parts concern, and curiosity.  The red Gryphon responded with a warm, comforting smile.  While it did nothing to dispel April's sense of anticipation, it did banish any half-formed worries and fears.

Sildinar smiled slightly, maintaining a stoic visage nonetheless, as he stepped forward, and to April's surprise, plucked a coal from the hearth between the thumb and index talons of his right claw.

The roan Gryphon glanced down at April with a reassuring, but solemn expression as he spoke.

"You have been brought to this place, because it stands as the best replica we could fashion in short notice.  It represents a place of great historical significance to us.  One day soon I hope you will have a chance to see the Great Hearth itself, but in the interim this will suffice."

The prince gestured with one claw towards the basin of coals ,and beyond it to the sea.

"At a hearth like this one, our first clans were founded, and our Kingdom first united.  You have been brought here tonight to receive adoption into a family, and a clan, of your own."

April's face went taught with a rapid-fire series of emotions.  Confusion, anticipation, disbelief, and ultimately, boundless joy.  She practically thrummed with energy as she shot Fyrenn the most radiant expression he had ever seen on a living being's face.

The sight moved him to tears, but he did his best to contain his emotions for the sake of gravitas.

Sildinar glanced up at the red Gryphon, and inclined his head.

"Does your offer of fatherhood still stand?"

Fyrenn smiled in spite of himself, and nodded emphatically.

"It does."

The roan Gryphon seemed to pick up on the smile reflexively, the corners of his beak turning up slightly as he returned his eyes to April.

"And do you accept?"

The fledgling nodded vigorously, her words tumbling out in a breathless expression of wonder, and joyful acceptance.

"Yes!  Yes I do!  Of course!"

Sildinar knelt, bringing his head close to April's, and inclined his head towards the hearth once more.

"At a hearth, over eternally burning coals, the first clans were forged, and the first King was chosen.  For our kind, there is nothing more sacred and more important than the bonds of family and clan.  For those joining a new clan, a change of name is not untoward.  Do you wish to take a new name little one?"

From across the hearth, Neyla winked down at April, and gave her a subtle nod.  The fledgling nodded, smiling up at Sildinar.

"I do.  Neyla helped me pick it out yesterday."

Fyrenn's eyes widened in a mild expression of surprise.  Even Varan failed to resist a slight, half-smile.  Sildinar, for his part, dipped his head in acknowledgement.

"That was most generous of her."

April smiled, and nodded.

"She taught me a name that means 'joy.'  I've seen many things I wish I could forget...  And some that I have to remember.  I don't want to let the dark ones be the ones that make me who I am.  I want to be named Alyra."

Sildinar smiled briefly, nodded, and passed the burning coal gently to Fyrenn.  The red Gryphon accepted, the glowing object, allowing it to roll into the more sensitive palm of his claw with a well concealed wince.

He gestured with his free left claw, and April obediently placed her right claw into it.  Fyrenn gave the young Gryphoness a reassuring smile, and moved their claws out over the hearth.  He then placed April's right claw against his, and the coal contained within it, and pressed them together firmly.

The fledgling winced slightly, but otherwise maintained her smile, and her composure, bravely.  Fyrenn fought back a fresh wave of tears, and his smile widened as he spoke.

"This day you become Alyra;  My daughter.  Member of my family, and clan Kh'yn'eos."

Fyrenn dipped his head slightly, and gently brought his free left claw down onto the interlocked claws, causing the coal to shake loose, and drop back into the hearth.

As soon as his grip was released, April catapulted up, and grabbed the red Gryphon by the neck, smothering him in her wings, and her tears of joy.  Thought Fyrenn hid his sobs well, he realized there was very little he could do about the tears coating his own cheeks.

Sildinar allowed himself, at last, a wider smile.  He briefly encompassed both Gryphons with one wing, before stepping back, and dipping his head.

"May your family be blessed..."

The roan Gryphon smiled wryly, and winked at Fyrenn.

"...And may it grow."

Neyla snorted, and folded Fyrenn and April into a two-winged embrace.

"I'll second that."

Fyrenn sighed, and shot a pleading look first at Kephic, then at Varan.  The speckled Gryphon shrugged, and smiled.

"Sorry my brother.  You'll get no argument from me."

Varan nodded sagely as he chimed in with unexpected gusto.

"Indeed.  I am grateful to be an uncle, but I also greatly desire a sister."

Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head slowly, pulling April close with both wings, and reveling in the smell of her feathers, the sight of the newborn stars, and the sense of peace that the moment brought.

"For now, let's just be grateful for *this* day.  Tomorrow will be conquered in its own time."

He glanced down at April, and smiled, gently brushing away her tears with the edge of one wing.

"For now...  Just for these few minutes...  Nothing else matters."

The red Gryphon leaned in, encircling April with his neck.  He whispered gently in her ear as she squeezed him with her forelegs.

"You'll never be alone again.  You have a father now.  And you always will."





Skye rushed down the gangway, and tackled April, rolling the pair into a blur of hooves, mane, fur, feathers, and wings.  The Unicorn giggled, and nuzzled the fledgling, beaming down at her and crooking her into a hug with her neck.

Carradan reached out with a hoof, and calmly patted Alyra on the shoulder.

"Congratulations kiddo.  I don't think you coulda' asked for a better father."

Hutch strolled down from the Machine Shop, hands thrust into his pockets.  It was the first time Fyrenn had seen him wearing civilian clothing in recent memory.

"So.  What's first?"

Skye raised a hoof, and then pointed at Sildinar.

"You and me big guy.  We're gonna use your connections to do a little sneaky sneaky looking into some secure servers.  With a touch of luck, we'll be able to find out where, when, and how the Echelon is making its move."

Fyrenn nodded, and gestured up to the warm, inviting light of the machine shop.

"The rest of us?  We're gonna get to work with oil, grease, carbon plates, and hot steel."

April danced back and forth animatedly on all-fours.

"You'll show me how to do it all?"

Fyrenn chuckled, and winked.

"Everything we have time for."

The red Gryphon led the group up into the space.  As soon as Skye and Sildinar had made their way out into the passage, he set about locking the entry doors from the inside.  He returned to the room's central massive worktable, and rapped on it with a fisted claw as he spoke.

"We don't let anyone interrupt us.  We're loading for bear.  No prisoners.  No quarter.  And the first rule in building the loadout for this is as follows;  Nothing is overkill.  The second, which is like unto it?  If it's stupid, and it works, then it isn't stupid."

Fyrenn tapped the table's central screen, and pulled up a series of blank blueprint templates.  With a wave of his claw, the grid extruded vertically under the auspices of a holoprojector.

"We have to work fast, we don't know how tight our window for action is.  So we've got half an hour to brainstorm, then we work until we're done.  We'll send people in shifts for food and drink, and Hutch?"

The general locked eyes with the red Gryphon as the latter flicked his ears slightly in anticipation.

"We may need you to raid the ship's stores, and armory.  This is the end of the line.  Total fire sale.  Everything and anything goes."

Hutch nodded slowly, and blinked.

"I've got one condition."

Fyrenn perked one ear, and raised an eyebrow.

The general smiled, and nodded to a bag propped up against the nearest cabinet.

"We need to talk about that rifle.  And what it would take to make it usable for me."

The red Gryphon smirked, and chuckled.

"I think that can be arranged.  Warm up the blast furnace."
> Chapter 52
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 5th, Gregorian Calendar

Skye smacked her hoof against the wall-screen, and nodded curtly.

"Thanks to the 'fair prince's' connections?  I was able to set up a series of the ship's cluster AI to trawl pretty much the entire defense net.  Even the black book no-touchie parts.  This is what we have to hit."

Sildinar snorted, and idly toyed with his modified RAC rifle.

"What evidence do you have that I'm fair?"

The Unicorn snorted, and rolled her eyes.

"Uhuh.  Well the Echelon sure isn't taking any chances.  This is the diplomatic and military terminal at John F. Kennedy Intraglobal Skyport.  Ninety six acres of heavily defended tactical evacuation zone under strict military control."

Skye swiped across the screen, summoning a series of schematics.

"Here are some old friends for us.  Two Javelin hypersonic transports, marked with diplomatic all-access tail stripes and transponders.  The requisition for them states that they're slated to leave JFK in three hours.  Just before dawn.  They were ordered through back-channels not thirty minutes after Big Red stapled wolfenstein out to die in the rain.  But that's not all folks..."

The Unicorn pointed to the second and third schematic wireframes.

"At the same time, through a different but related office?  A requisition was placed for five of these heavy APCs, and four escort jeeps per.  No filed routes, drivers *not* to be provided by material supply command.  To top it all off?"

Skye tapped the screen a final time, and a document materialized in large, official print.

"The Skyport is going to be under a protocol ILS-Dark order, starting in one hour, and lasting for the next four.  No craft in or out except for the Javelins.  No military, police, or civilian interference.  Nothing so much as a stray tarmac light.  As I understand it?  When you lay down an order like that, you're planning on some serious shenanigans."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, rising from his seat at the far end of the conference table.

"This is it, then.  They plan to move all the children, and the majority of their other personnel out in one fell swoop.  We miss this window?  They scatter to the four winds and this becomes the most nightmarish scavenger hunt in history."

Kephic nodded, and inclined his head.

"So we don't miss this window.  Do we have a plan of attack?"

Sildinar shook his head.

"That's why we're all here.  We have three hours at most to plan this, get into position, and execute it."

Hutch's eyes narrowed, and he held up a hand, interjecting firmly.

"With minimal, to no casualties in terms of friendly military troops.  That's my one stipulation."

Varan shrugged both wings and added his opinion to the pile.

"That should not be difficult in this particular instance.  The ILS-Dark protocol will keep the combat zone more or less clear for our purposes."

Carradan waggled his head from side to side, shooting a half-glance at the screen.

"Meh.  Piece of cake.  So what's the play exactly?"

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and inhaled, as he examined the screen.  He tapped a small control embedded into the table, bringing a holographic representation of the Skyport into existence in mid-air.

"Neyla...  You say I don't like to do things with subtlety..."

He paused to offer the Gryphoness a wry smirk, as she folded her forelegs, and responded with a good natured glower.

Fyrenn inclined his head, and chuckled grimly.

"Well...  You're not wrong."





The red strobe effect of the nearest jeep's emergency lights cast Loryss' face in an eerie, hellish aspect.  The Councilor wordlessly handed her bag to the nearest soldier as she mentally prepared herself for the undignified climb into the rear of the APC.

What the vehicle lacked in furnishings, it more than made up for with five inches of alloy armor plating, and a roof-mounted rail-saw emplacement.

Loryss cast a final glance at her apartment building, before nodding to the soldier beside the vehicle's inner door.  The man reached out and slammed an armored fist into the control panel.  The APC's rear compartment was swiftly sealed, dimming appreciably as all outside sources of light were cut off.

The vehicle lurched as the convoy pulled away from the curb, and tore down the empty stretches of Lexington avenue, with no regard for stoplights, lane delineations, or speed limits.  Though there were precious few people left in the city, and even fewer road vehicles, the escort jeeps ran with all lights flashing, and deafening military caution sirens blaring.

Loryss would never have admitted it, even to herself, but on some level she felt a gnawing sense of concern.  She had meticulously reviewed footage of General Warluf's fatal encounter with Fyrenn, and she knew full well that an identical armored convoy had lasted less than twelve seconds against the Gryphon's lone high-powered rifle.

The Councilor dismissed the thought as the city streaked past outside, to the tooth-vibrating monotone roar of the APC's immense engine block.  Soon enough, she reasoned, her person, her career, and her assets would be well out of the Gryphon's reach.

Until then, however, Loryss resigned herself to an omnipresent sense of nervousness.  She simply couldn't dispense with the feeling that she was being keenly, and malevolently, observed.





Kephic finished screwing the steel strut into the concrete, and stepped back to survey the results.  Hutch dropped to a prone position, his armor clacking softly against the roof's surface.  

The General, and every other member of the group, wore JRSF standard gear appropriate to their species, painted in the same near-black shade of maroon as Fyrenn's armor, and likewise striped with brighter red.  The other Gryphons, including Alyra, had painted on their war markings with a reserve of Kryn's blood that Fyrenn had saved for the express purpose.

Hutch, Skye, and Stan had all expressed a strong preference to use simple red acrylic paint.

The General placed the enormous rifle's stock to his shoulder, and glanced down at Kephic's work.  The weapon had received a newly modified tripod system, utilizing pneumatic rams fed into ground screws to absorb the recoil.  The original iron sights had been augmented with a night vision enabled digital scope, for the sake of Hutch's Human eyes.

He glanced experimentally down the length of the barrel, then patted the stock lovingly.

"You really need a name for this thing."

Fyrenn shrugged his wings, and inclined his head slightly.

"I'll leave that honor up to you."

Skye stepped back from her task, allowing her magic to fade away gently, and gestured to Alyra.

"Give that a try."

The fledgling stepped up to the Unicorn's instrument, and peered down its length.  The device was mounted on a tripod, and an extension post, so that it came to the young Gryphoness' eye-level.  It consisted merely of a long steel rail equipped with iron sights, and an infrared laser tied to Hutch's scope.  A small holographic display projector rounded out the package, producing a minimalist HUD showing basic range-finding information, a holo-trail from the barrel of the rifle, and a mini window showing what Hutch was seeing through his own scope.

The assembly had been partially Stan's idea, though most of its execution had been engineered by Varan and Skye.  It was intended to allow Alyra to act as Hutch's spotter, given that a standard digital scope's comparatively meager magnification would be a detriment to her eyes, rather than an aid.

Alyra snorted, and ruffled her wings in agitation.

"Why do I have to be the spotter?"

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and fixed his daughter with a soft glare.

"Because I don't feel comfortable putting you into a close combat situation until you've had some training, and time to adjust."

The fledgling huffed, and sat back on her haunches, the edges of her beak turning down slightly.

"Is this how its always going to be, now?  You're going to do everything you can to keep me out of the fights?"

Neyla shook her head, and placed a comforting wing around the young Gryphoness.

"If he gets too overbearing, I'll handle it.  But this time he's right.  You're not fully prepared yet.  All your years of experience are useless until you fully acclimate, and figure out how to repurpose them.  Besides...  What you're doing here is important."

Hutch nodded, and chuckled darkly as he fiddled with the settings on his scope.

"No argument there.  It's been about five years since I qualified with a sniper rifle, and I was never all that great of a shot on my own.  This 'Hellraiser' is just a bit much for one old sot to handle all by his lonesome."

Alyra giggled, and glanced back down her new sighting mechanism.

"Is that what you're gonna call it?"

Hutch shrugged, and nodded.

"Sure.  Why not.  It kinda fits.  Anyway...  I'm glad to have you here.  Your father and I have been friends for a good few years, and you and I need to get in some quality time before you all disappear off into the sunrise."

The General rose to a kneeling position, and pulled a munitions canister from his armor's rear magnetic hardpoint.  He opened the large gray cylinder, and began laying out shells in careful groupings, making sure he kept the objects outside the Hellraiser's potential magnetic field.

Fyrenn, Varan, Neyla, and Sildinar turned to help Skye and Carradan with their equipment.

The red Gryphon and his brother carefully attached a large, bulky, angular device onto Skye's back, locking it into her armor's hardpoints, and cinching down a series of extra straps for good measure.

Though both Ponies had made it clear that they would fight, to the point of providing lethal fire if need-be, Fyrenn had insisted they concentrate on more tactical supporting roles.  Stan, for his part, had volunteered to carry extra stores of munitions and grenades.

Sildinar had fashioned a form of well-secured, but easy-access rack to fit on the Pegasus' shoulders, between his wings.  The device provided quick retrieval for thousands of rounds of railgun clips, and several dozen grenades of various types.  Behind that, Neyla had carefully secured an oversized medical trauma kit.

Once the task was complete, Fyrenn glanced around to each member of the group.  He smiled slightly, and nodded.

"Well.  They'll certainly be intimidated, no question of that."

Skye chuckled darkly, and nodded.

"If they mistake us for avenging angels of death, It wouldn't really surprise me."

Varan raised one eyebrow slightly, his typical stoic tone peaking slightly in amusement.

"Mistake us?  It seems as if your words are fairly apt, literal, descriptors."

Neyla held up a claw for silence, and gestured out across the edge of the roof, to the west.

"It's time.  They should be arriving in a moment."

The group had taken up station atop the largest building that bordered the Skyport.  Below and beyond to the west sat a large empty concrete buffer zone, that quickly rose into a steel, concrete, and barbed wire security barrier.  Beyond the fence lay a series of tarmacs, runways, hangars, fuel silos, two terminal buildings, and a control tower.

Due to the pre-dawn hour of the morning, very little activity could be seen in the Skyport.  A few wheeled maintenance drones whizzed back and forth on pre-determined paths, moving luggage, coolant, and raw materials from hangar to hangar.

The breeze toyed with the edges of tarpaulins covering the few private and civil aircraft tied down in outside parking zones.

A lone light VTOL, likely a security patrol in Fyrenn's estimation, dipped and swung lazily around the opposite side of the facility's perimeter.  The red Gryphon could pick out the pilot, co-pilot, and door-gunner of the patrol, as well as the faces of four operators in the control tower.

As the group watched in silence, the tower personnel snapped out of their dazed boredom, and set to work on their access panels.  One by one, the runway and taxiway lights began to wink out.  Shortly thereafter, the hangars, terminals, control tower, and flood-lights all went dark.

As all drone activity abruptly ceased, the patrol VTOL snapped to a northerly heading, dipped slightly, and peeled away at top speed.

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, and glowered.

"Something isn't right.  The lights aren't supposed to be snuffed for another twenty minutes...  We haven't even seen the APCs arrive---"

The red Gryphon's words were abruptly cut off as the doors of one of the darkened hangars began to slide open with the noisy thrum of motorized rack and pinion gears.  As the portals peeled away, the distinctive sound of high powered jet turbines spilled forth, accompanied by two black, sleek shapes.

Kephic scowled as he managed to pick out the shadow-wreathed silhouettes of several APCs and armored jeeps in the building's deeper recesses.

Sildinar took a moment to state the obvious on behalf of the less ocularly-gifted group members.

"They changed their schedule.  Not entirely surprising given how badly you have frightened them."

As the two Javelin transports cut a sharp left onto the nearest taxiway, proceeding in close, staggered formation, Fyrenn snapped open his wings.

"We have less than thirty seconds."

Carradan raised an eyebrow, and held out a hoof.

"Whoa there mister afterburners...  Even *I* can barely make the distance from here to those jets in twenty five seconds in this magic-scarce environment.  By the time the rest of you catch up they'll be going close to mach one."

Fyrenn loped to the edge of the building, and gestured sharply with one claw.

"Form up behind me."

The red Gryphon shot his speckled brother a slight wry grin.

"I'm going to teach you how I 'cheat' at air racing."

Fyrenn leapt from the roof, followed in quick succession by Neyla, Kephic, Stan, and Varan.  Sildinar brought up the rear, sparing a brief moment to snatch Skye into a close-carry position with his forelegs.

The red Gryphon called out as he began to pick up speed, allowing his headset to transfer the words to Hutch, in spite of the incredible wind-noise.

"BUY US SOME TIME!"

Fyrenn and the rest of the Gryphons pelted downwards at an incredible rate, hugging the side of the building as tightly as they dared.  The red Gryphon again shouted into his headset, to make himself heard to the group.

"I'M PULLING LEVEL THIRTY FEET OUT!  THAT WILL GET US OVER THE FENCE!  STAY CLOSE TO THE STRUCTURE, AND KEEP YOUR WINGS TIGHT!"

Sildinar swiftly began to lose ground due to the drag created by his passenger, but given their role in the plan a few moments of lag time in their arrival posed little cause for concern.

Atop the skyscraper, Alyra stared down her sighting device with one eye, spreading her wings slightly and sticking out her tongue over the lower right edge of her beak in concentration.

"Three little dots to the right.  Two up."

Hutch chuckled, and carefully shifted the Hellraiser, threading a round into the breech as he did so, and cycling the bolt.

"They're called 'mils.' "

Alyra grinned sheepishly, and nodded without taking her eyes off the target.

"Come back left half a mil and keep the front tire of the lead plane three mils left of center and two below."

The Gryphoness nodded once more, and grinned as she instinctively worked out the projectile's flight-path.

"FIRE!"

Hutch pulled the trigger, and visibly jumped as the weapon roared to life.  He found himself immediately and incredibly grateful for the dynamic noise-cancelling powers of his helmet's speaker system.

The Hellraiser pulled backwards like a bronco, forcing itself against the hydraulic rams, until its excess kinetic energy was fully expended.  The stock retracted slightly on a spring loaded bearing, to prevent the weapon from tearing out Hutch's shoulder.

The General re-acquired his sight picture, exclaiming under his breath as the round impacted. 

"Holy--"





Fyrenn pulled out of his dive just in time to see and hear the results of Hutch's shot.  As he flew over the top of the perimeter fence at blistering speed, he found himself completely distracted from the sore protestations of his recent injuries.

The round sailed over his head, leaving a distinctive vapor trail that he could chart with his decelerated perceptions.  The object continued straight and true, slamming directly into the pavement an inch ahead of the front Javelin's nose-gear tires.

Tarmac material vaporized, cracked, and exploded outwards from a five by six foot, four inch deep crater.

The spray of duracrete and tungsten shrapnel, along with the pure airburst of the impact, peeled the rubber of the wheel away like tissue paper in a hurricane.  The aircraft lurched and slowed virtually to a stop as sparks flew from the contact between the wheel rim, and the broken portion of the tarmac.

The second aircraft was immediately forced to brake, given that the relatively small taxiway provided no room for the vehicle to pass its stricken twin, due to the immense wingspan of both craft.

Fyrenn grinned, keeping his eyes fixed on his target as the yards blew past underneath.

"Excellent shot!"

The red Gryphon could easily pick out the frantic faces of the pilot and co-pilot, as they gesticulated and conversed with someone standing out of sight in the cockpit doorway.  Seconds later, the whine of the Javelin's engines increased by a factor of ten.

Sparks flew from the destroyed front-wheel in an eight foot high rooster tail of fire.  An unearthly screech emanated from the nose-gear as the metal rim bit into the tarmac, tearing into the duracrete as the aircraft forced its way ever closer to the runway through sheer brute thrust alone.

The strategy struck Fyrenn as the act of a desperate coward.  Damage to the nose-gear would make a safe landing extremely difficult when the craft reached its destination, particularly given its incredible weight.  Despite the fact that the offending wheel could be reached via a maintenance hatch after retraction, and spare tires were kept onboard, there was no guarantee that taxiing on the rim would leave the strut itself unharmed.

As Fyrenn beat his wings to augment his inertia, he glowered, and tapped the side of his helmet.

"Hit the second one!"

A few moments later, another incredibly well-placed round shredded the second Javelin's front tire.  The aircraft halted abruptly, and showed no signs of attempting to force its way along in spite of the damage.

Fyrenn reached the stopped craft just as the lead Javelin made the turn onto the runway, and began violently accelerating.  The red Gryphon gestured down with one claw as he passed over the top of the second Javelin.

"Kephic!  Stan!  Sildinar!  Handle the static one!  Skye;  Now would be a good time to scramble the airwaves!"

As Kephic and Stan pulled up short at the front left door of the Javelin, Sildinar dropped to the tarmac, and released Skye.  The Unicorn knelt, and her horn sprang to life with a dazzling teal glow.

The energy of her magic arced over and around her body, absorbing itself into the device on her back, which began to glow through a series of white slits, and let out a sharp whine.  The group's communication system cut out instantly.

Fyrenn knew that the device had likely shut down every kind of electromagnetic transmission within a three mile radius.  It had been one of Alyra's suggestions.  A means to prevent any trigger happy enemies from holding the remaining children hostage with a lone stray DaTab.

The red Gryphon altered his angle of intercept slightly, vying to bring himself alongside the swiftly accelerating Javelin as it tore off down the runway in a shower of sparks twenty feet high and thirty feet long.

By forcing himself well beyond his perceived limits, Fyrenn barely managed to come alongside the cockpit.  As soon as he was close enough, he began to draft, utilizing the jet's boundary layer to lend him a massive speed boost.

He watched as Neyla performed a similar maneuver on the opposite side of the plane, while Varan threaded the needle between the Javelin's engine exhaust streams, bringing himself directly up behind the hold-access ramp under the tail.

As the craft pulled up into a shallow climb, Fyrenn gave Neyla curt nod.

The two Gryphons tucked their wings, straightened their bodies, and launched themselves forward, gaining several meters over the jet momentarily as they utilized its aerodynamics to provide immense additional thrust to their lunge.

The pair turned in tandem, withdrawing their RACs in the process.  In perfect synchronization, they laced the front canopy with a hail of fire.  The rounds' velocities combined with the Javelin's forward thrust to lend the bullets exponential piercing power.  The reinforced plexiglass shredded instantaneously, with the pilot and co-pilot's heads following suit within a half second.

As Varan rolled upside down under the tail ramp, and affixed a small breaching explosive, Fyrenn and Neyla tucked their wings even further, in staggered sequence.  The red Gryphon cannoned into the cockpit first, allowing his fisted claws to mangle the central window strut, in order to make room for his arrival.

He rolled across the tight confines of the compartment and came to an abrupt stop against the far right wall of the chamber, as Neyla breached the space, bringing herself to a stop on the left.

A half-second later Varan's explosive went off, tearing away the mag locks securing the loading ramp in place.  With both pilot and co-pilot dead, but the controls set to manual, the shift in weight distribution and aerodynamics increased the Javelin's rate of climb sharply.

The back of the cockpit abruptly became the floor, relative to gravity and acceleration.  Fyrenn gestured to the cockpit door, which was more of a trap-door as a result of the climb.

He knew the space of the jet's main cabin could swiftly become a killing field, given that there was barely any room for a Gryphon to maneuver, but plenty of space for a Human to bring a rifle to bear.

"On my count. Three...  Two...  One..."





With a loud 'CRACK,' Kephic felled the first soldier as he attempted to make his way out of the main access door.

The speckled Gryphon smirked, as he re-trained his rifle, and put a round through the nearest window, severely denting another soldier's helmet.  Carradan stood still beside the Gryphon, making added stores of ammunition clips readily available.

The Pegasus snorted, and grinned slightly, shouting to make himself heard over the idle of the engines.

"Ladies and gentlemen!  It seems the aircraft is experiencing mechanical issues!  We'll have to ask all passengers to deplane at this time.  As compensation, we are offering ten free grams of tungsten to anyone willing to visit our resident Gryphon at the ticket counter!  This offer is non-negotiable, non-refusable, and illegal in all Earthgov territories, and the state of Wyoming."

A series of shots rang out from the other side of the craft as Sildinar aggressively discouraged the occupants from attempting to use the starboard exit hatch.  The roan Gryphon maintained a protective stance between Skye and the craft, ensuring that she would not become a target as the fighting intensified.

An eerie calm descended for nearly ten seconds, before the rear loading ramp unlatched, and began to sweep downwards on its pneumatic pistons.  Before Kephic had a chance to pull back and re-position himself, a soft whirring sound split the air.

The corpse of another soldier, his armor black and totally unmarked, slid down the ramp neck first.  The man's head was completely missing, including his helmet.





Hutch grimaced as he cycled the Hellraiser's bolt, doing his best to keep the Javelin's rear ramp in his sight picture as he reloaded.

"Kid, the fact that your eye for targets is this good at your age really makes me uncomfortable.  And I mean that in the best possible way."

Alyra cracked a terrifying, predatory grin as she made minute adjustments to the direction of her sighting apparatus.  She shrugged her wings slightly, and chuckled darkly.

"The first time I had to kill someone?  I couldn't even write my name yet.  It was hard at first, but after a while I stopped losing as much sleep over it.  Bad things happen to evil people, and that's good for everyone else.  So what if that bad thing happens to be me?"

The fledgling paused, and narrowed her eyes.

"One half mil up, and one to the left.  Wait two seconds, then fire."

Hutch counted off the time silently, then pulled the trigger.  The general trusted Alyra's instructions, in spite of the fact that he could not see a target at the designated location.  Almost as if by magic, however, a pair of soldiers rushed down the ramp single-file, and directly into the round.

As the shot blew both men's torsos away, ignoring their armor as if it didn't even exist, Hutch whistled, and shook his head.

"Haven't you ever heard the phrase 'Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord?' "

Alyra inclined her head, and began seeking a new target, murmuring absently as she did so.

"Sure...  Who says I can't be the Lord's errand girl?"





"NOW!"

As Fyrenn kicked in the cabin door, he lashed out with one back paw, hitting the pilot's control stick, and dropping the plane through a stall, into a near-vertical dive.  From a relative perspective, gravity shut off, like a light switch had somehow been flicked at the center of the universe.

As he moved into the cabin under the power of his wings, Fyrenn brought time to a near-standstill in order to take in the space.

Four heavily armored troopers were in the process of lifting off the aisle, flailing madly to regain their bearings.  The nearest seat to the Gryphon's left was occupied by Councilor Loryss' familiar, yet terrified visage.

Every other seat in the cabin was occupied by a young boy or girl;  Some were as old as their mid-teens in Fyrenn's estimation, but none any older than fifteen.  Many were as young as age six.  All of the seat's occupants were strapped in with five-point safety harnesses.  The children's restraints seemed to have been latched together with an added digital RFID-key driven lock.

As his grip on nearly-null time slipped away into a more familiar slow-motion dance of death, Fyrenn spied Varan making his ingress undetected from the rear cargo bay access hatch.

Fyrenn loosed several shots from his RAC, as did Neyla, before the pair were forced to discard the weapons, and switch to their claws, wings, and beaks.  The space was too confined for swords, and given the mayhem, it was too dangerous to continue using projectile weapons for fear of hitting one of the children.

The red Gryphon felt the Javelin slip into a dangerous flat-spin as he connected with the first soldier.  The man did his best to resist, nearly managing to get off several shots into a weak point in Fyrenn's armor.  

The sight of an enraged Gryphon, decorated in the blood of his dead enemies, put the soldier into a state of mortal terror, dispensing with every ounce of his strength, ability to aim, and will to fight.

Fyrenn crushed his neck like an old toilet paper tube.

He spun in the false zero-G environment, and used the man's body as an impromptu added shield.  The second soldier unleashed a storm of bullets in his direction, with no regard whatsoever for her chances of murdering one of the nearby children.  Fyrenn threw the corpse of his first enemy like a boulder, knocking the woman's rifle out of her hands, and pinning her to the wall.

One swift, silent flick of his talons later, and her lifeless body sported four new breathing holes.  As Fyrenn turned to survey the remaining hostiles, he realized that Varan and Neyla had already made short work of them.

A momentary pause ensued, surprisingly filled only with the whine of the Javelin's engines.

Fyrenn's mind immediately turned to the vehicle's fatal spin, and dive.  He launched himself towards the cockpit, gesturing at Loryss emphatically.

"Make sure she stays PUT!"





Kephic peered angrily into the Javelin's windows as he leapt gracefully onto the left wing.  He narrowed his eyes, and gestured for Carradan to follow.  As soon as the Pegasus arrived, the speckled Gryphon replenished his magazine, and removed two incendiary grenades from the Pony's saddle-rack.

"There are no children on this craft.  And I'm tiring of whack-a-vole."

Carradan raised a hoof, and crinkled his muzzle.

"That's whack-a *mole,* ace.  So what's your play?"

Kephic calmly pulled the pin from each grenade, allowing his rifle to fall away, and taking caution to keep the spoons depressed.

Stan winced, and stepped back.

"Ah.  So it's going to be like that."

The Gryphon shouted over the top of the plane, to ensure Sildinar would hear.

"I'M GOING IN!  BE PREPARED TO CUT OFF THEIR EXIT ROUTE ON YOUR SIDE!"

Without further ado, Kephic leapt across the intervening space to the left-side entry door, pinwheeling one hundred and eighty degrees around the frame as he threw the grenades.  One went straight into the cockpit, the other down the center aisle of the main cabin.

The Gryphon folded his wings, and maintained his impromptu dive, passing straight out the right side door of the plane, and snapping them open again to achieve a brief glide.  Carradan leapt from the wing, and backed away quickly on the left side.

Soldiers dove frantically out all exits of the aircraft.  A gaggle came pouring down the cargo ramp at the rear, and were immediately bathed in a blinding white light, and fatal heat, as a phosphorous round tore into the tightly packed formation.

Two aggressors foolishly tried to accost Sildinar, but found themselves physically relieved of their heads, via gleaming sword blade, before they could even raise their tactical knives.

After a brief pause, a group of uniformed officers dove from the starboard exit door, hands held high over their heads in a gesture of surrender.  Sildinar closed swiftly with the group, forcing them to their knees and beginning an aggressive search to ensure the four men were unarmed.

As the Javelin shook, and roared, a final soldier made a daring escape out the left side of the aircraft.  Flames punctured every window of the jet, and the nose blew apart entirely.  As a result, the forward gear collapsed, and the entire plane simply fell apart into several large, burning chunks.

The lone remaining armored man offered Stan a smirk, unwisely deciding that the stocky pink Pegasus presented little to no threat.

Before the soldier could even raise his rifle, Carradan let out a war cry worthy of any major league linebacker.  The Pegasus cannoned into the man with such speed, that he lost his rifle in the resulting impact, and his chest plate partially shattered.

The pair came to rest painfully close to the Javelin's burning fuel tanks.  As the man attempted to reach for his tactical knife, Carradan wailed on him furiously with his front hooves.

Under the vicious onslaught, the soldier's helmet flew clean off, allowing the Pegasus to easily pummel the aggressor into unconsciousness.  Carradan snorted, and gave the man a near-fatal buck to the neck with his back legs, for good measure.

He glanced up to see Kephic gazing on with a stunned, but admiring expression.

The Pegasus shrugged, and smiled.

"Scratch one vole."





"Why are we still falling?"

Though Neyla's voice was relatively calm, her eyes betrayed an inner sense of concern.  The Gryphons were free to escape the falling craft at any time, without risking their lives.  But given the number of children on board, such a course would be a death sentence for dozens, even if all three Gryphons loaded themselves to maximum gliding capacity.

Fyrenn had since ripped out the pilot's seat, and corpse, throwing them into the companionway behind him to give himself room to sit on his haunches in front of the controls.  The air was permeated with the whistle of wind through the broken canopy, and the blaring of a dozen alarms.

"We're in a flat stall and a slight left spin.  That's a hell of a thing to recover from, and even if we do?  The nose-gear is showing six different structural warnings.  We'll be lucky not to break up on touchdown."

Neyla wrestled momentarily with the co-pilot's chair and body, then took up a cramped position in his vacated slot.

"What can I do?"

"Gear is up.  Gear is up.  Spin.  Spin.  Spin.  Stall.  Stall.  Stall.  Terrain Warning.  Terrain Warning.  Pull up!  Pull up!  Pull up!" 

Fyrenn glowered, gritting his beak as he wrestled with the control stick, and the throttle.

"Well you can start by shutting that thing up."

Neyla perked one ear, following the sound as the staccato female voice of the plane's AI rattled off another round of warnings.  The Gryphoness quickly located the hidden speakers, and delivered a metal-shattering punch to the housings with both fisted claws, cutting off both the voice, and the alarms.

"Done.  Next?"

Fyrenn gestured to the central control panel, and throttle quadrant.

"Manage the flaps and spoilers.  They work just like the inner-edge primaries on your wing.  I need you to react to changes in our speed, and angle of attack, to try and get that latter one back into the right sweet spot.  If we can annul the spin, we can recover from the stall relatively easily!"

Neyla nodded, and placed her left claw on the appropriate control levers.

Fyrenn pressed hard on the rudders, and jerked the stick gently, but firmly into the spin.  The Javelin's wide, long, flat airframe protested mightily as the torsional stress threatened to damage structural supports, and hydraulic control systems.

The red Gryphon winced reflexively as he noted that the craft had less than twenty more seconds of flight time left in its fall before there would be no room left for a recovery maneuver.

He said a silent prayer of thanks for whatever mechanism kept his eyes guarded against the powerful vortex of air pouring through the wrecked windscreen, and a quick plea for safety.  Under his ministrations, slowly but surely, the craft began to correct its spin, gradually levelling out into a straight high-angle stall.

He  waggled the control stick and rudder gently to restore some turbulent air-flow to the wings, before slamming the stick all the way forward.

Neyla's eyes widened, and she tensed involuntarily, shooting Fyrenn a concerned glance.

He grinned wryly, and held the stick inwards, compounding the terror of the situation by shoving the throttle to the max-thrust position.

"Trust me!  My dad was a pilot!"

The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow as the darkness of the Skyport rushed towards them at half the speed of sound.

"Have YOU ever flown before?!"

Fyrenn nodded, and began to gently pull back on the stick, willing the plane to remain structurally intact as the maneuver began to bend the wings past their max stated tolerance points.

The red Gryphon grit his beak even tighter, reflexively flaring his wings slightly as he willed the Javelin to gain lift faster.

"I logged almost two thousand hours in the academy simulator!"

Neyla's eyes widened further, and her voice developed a worried, slightly frustrated edge.

"Simulator?!"

Fyrenn winced, and continued to delicately tweak the controls, his ears flattened to the top of his head by the force of the wind through the window.

"You should get out now!  Take Varan with you!  Only one of us needs to risk this!"

A sharp glower told Fyrenn that the chances of the Gryphoness following his instructions were slimmer than a snowball's chance in hell.  He inclined his head, and smiled slightly.

"Well...  Of the ways I can imagine dying?  This one certainly is guaranteed to leave a mark!"

Fyrenn tilted his head, and went all out, pulling the stick back as far as it would go, and abandoning subtlety entirely.

"This is going to be very very CLOSE!"

The ground was so near, that he could pick out individual imperfections in the individual grains of the duracrete forming the runway.  At last, the Javelin began to move more in a forward direction than downward.  The change brought a massive influx of lift, and the craft spiked upwards, forcing Fyrenn to release the pressure on the stick or risk another, fatal stall.

He hissed as the craft crossed over the boundary fence with mere millimeters to spare, the belly of the jet scraping against the barbed wire ever-so-slightly.  Instantaneously, the red Gryphon's primary concern became finding a survivable flight path.

Though the areas leading into and out of valid traffic patterns were clear of tall buildings, as per safety regulations,  the Javelin was on anything-but a valid traffic path.

A pair of skyscrapers loomed large, and Fyrenn reflexively did the only thing he could.  He rammed the stick left, holding the rudder steady, and keeping the throttle locked in afterburn-position to maintain precious lift.

The Javelin spun on its centerline axis, threading the street-width space between the buildings, and pulling into a knife-edge bank turn towards clear skies.  As the craft at last leveled off, Fyrenn finally exhaled, and began to shake his head slowly.

"I think the Aviation Administration might be slightly unhappy about this."

Neyla exhaled as well, and chuckled grimly, closing her eyes and allowing herself to sit back slightly.

"What are they going to do?  Ask us nicely to avoid flying for a few weeks?  Tell them they can get in line, behind everyone else who wants to kill us, fine us, jail us, or banish us.  At this point it must be an impressive list."

Fyrenn inclined his head, and sighed.

"Well.  We still have to land this thing...  And there's a great chance we'll die doing that too."

Neyla tilted her head, and rotated her ears thoughtfully.

"I have a less risky plan."

Fyrenn chuckled as he let off the throttle, and drooped his beak and ears in a faux pouty expression.

"You just love to take the fun out of these moments, don't you?"
> Chapter 53
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 5th, Gregorian Calendar

Alyra rushed forward to greet Fyrenn as he descended with the final two children on his back.  Though Neyla's idea had robbed him of the challenge of landing a Javelin with a broken nose-gear, he was visibly relieved that the Gryphoness had broached her concept.

Neyla had simply pointed out that the Javelin's lowest speed before stall was slow enough to allow a Gryphon to catch up, and board the craft through the rear cargo ramp.  Given that the jet was fueled for a long-haul flight, it had more than enough resources to circle slowly and steadily until Neyla, Varan, Kephic, and Sildinar could unload all its occupants.

In the end, Fyrenn had volunteered to take the last two children, while Neyla secured Councilor Loryss.  The Javelin was disposed of by flying it to a safe position over the harbor, then aiming it at the barrier.  The immolation would take care of any chance at dangerous falling debris.  And Fyrenn thought it made for excellent fireworks, though he felt sorry to see the aircraft go in a small sense.

He knelt and embraced his daughter with a wide smile, while the two children scrambled off his back and dashed across the taxiway to the remainder of the group.  Hutch had come down from his sniper's nest, and was tending to the young ones along with Skye, and Carradan.

The latter was being swamped by the youngest five members of the group, eliciting a long, mirthful laugh from Kephic as he watched from a safe distance.

Sildinar and Varan were standing over four high ranking officers, and one armor clad soldier;  The only enemy survivors of the incident, aside from Loryss.  All four men were being held in a kneeling position by hand and leg cuffs, as well as their justified fear of their fierce captors.

The latter Gryphon quickly stepped up to relieve Neyla of Loryss.  The woman was sporting several deep, painful-looking puncture wounds in her arms and shoulders.  Neyla had not taken any pains to be a polite hostess.

The Gryphoness briefly relinquished the wriggling, protesting woman into the care of her companion, so she could set about removing the hardened case strapped between her shoulders.

The object had been latched underneath the Councilor's seat, so Neyla had deemed it worth removing for closer examination.

She gently laid the bulky gray object to rest of the tarmac, and forced the locks open with a grunt, and a sharp burst of exertion from her claws.  The lid popped off, and Fyrenn leaned over to glance at the case's contents.

He glowered, and pulled away, shooting a death glare at Loryss as Varan and Sildinar held her in a none-to-gentle pair of vice like grips.  Neyla glanced at Loryss, then at Alyra, then at Fyrenn, and finally at the gaggle of smiling, laughing children.  

Her face hardening by turns until it reached an expression of rage so pure the red Gryphon actually felt his heart skip several beats.  After a long pause, the Neyla closed the case, and shoved it firmly into Fyrenn's claws.  She stepped forward, and wrenched Loryss out of Varan's care.

Neyla gestured to the nearest hangar, and began to shove Loryss along, giving the woman no say in her direction, nor speed.

Fyrenn kept his beak shut, and followed, wondering precisely what the Gryphoness intended to do by way of channeling her unchecked fury.  Sildinar and Varan offered questioning glances, but did not protest audibly.

Alyra made as if to follow, but Fyrenn paused, and jerked his head back towards his brother, and the prince.

"Stay with them.  This is not for you to see."

The fledgling opened her beak to protest, but Fyrenn shook his head solemnly.

"In spite of all you've been through?  I don't think this is something you're ready to live with.  Please stay."

Alyra held her position, staring defiantly up at Fyrenn.  He set down the case momentarily, and pulled his daughter close with one wing.

"I promise you;  She will not leave that hangar alive, regardless.  It ends here.  But how it ends is something potentially a little too gruesome for you.  Especially after what happened to Sonya."

Fyrenn released the fledgling, and cupped her chin gently in one claw.

"Be brave.  Help the other children to realize that they're safe now, and do your best to keep them calm and hopeful.  I'll be back.  Soon."





Fyrenn arrived to find the hangar shrouded mostly in darkness.  A single arc-lamp had been set up alongside a maintenance tool cart, and a steel worktable.  A pair of VTOLs sat silently in the back right corner, presenting the vague image of slumbering sentinel Dragons.

Neyla stood over Loryss, who sat in a half-crouching. half lying-down position on the table, the Gryphoness' claws held directly to her throat.  As Fyrenn approached, he caught the tail end of the woman's latest string of empty threats.

"You mongrel!  I will not stand for this!  I am a *Councilor,* and you will face a FIRING SQUAD for what you've done here today!  Do you understand me?!"

Fyrenn dropped the case onto the work cart, producing a loud thud that made Loryss jump, and cut her throat painfully on Neyla's talons.

"You're the one facing the firing squad today.  I gave you warning.  I told you what would happen if you pursued that child.  If you crossed my family."

Loryss spat to the side, and shook with pent up anger.

"I gave those children...  I gave the Human RACE, a GIFT!  One you threatened to take away!  The Twelfth Echelon of the Earthgov charter articles of protection gives me the RIGHT!  And when my colleagues---"

The red Gryphon leaned in, and allowed his hot, angry breath to wash over Loryss' face as he lowered his tone to an almost-intimate, yet quiveringly rage-filled volume.

"Your colleagues are all either dead, or cut off from their last vestiges of support.  Proof of your crimes is littered across that tarmac, and half this city.  When the media begins to dig, more and more will come to light with every passing day.  Any remaining followers of your sick little echelon will be hunted like rabid dogs, and put down in the street..."

Fyrenn pulled back, and crossed his forelegs, glowering.

"As for you?  I'm going to do the worst thing I can imagine to you."

The red Gryphon sat back on his haunches, and ruffled his wings into a comfortable position, smirking slightly as he continued.

"I'm going to let *her* do as she will with you.  If you think *I* caused carnage and pain?"

Fyrenn exchanged a grim look with Neyla, and inclined his head.

"Well...  She is an enraged mother, and a Gryphoness.  The deepest circle of Hell will be kinder to you.  And much less painful."

Neyla opened the case, and calmly began rifling through the tool cart beneath it.

"Don't take his word for it..."

She withdrew a series of cable ties, and stood over Loryss with a triumphant, mortifyingly predatory smirk.

"When I'm finished with you?  You'll be able to make the comparison for yourself."

Neyla spun the Councilor over onto her back, and began roughly securing her wrists and ankles to the four posts of the table.  Loryss squirmed, and began to hyperventilate.

"Unhand me, NOW!  Just what do you think you're DOING?!"

The Gryphoness placed her head alongside Loryss' left ear as she calmly extracted two objects from the hardened security case.

"There is a legend among my kind.  About a demon who sought to rob a mother of her fledgling.  The mother pursued the demon from one side of the world to the other, then into the depths of Hades itself.  With her bare claws she fought the demon, defeated her, and tore her limb from limb.  From that day on, not even Discord himself would deign to lay a claw on one of the young under our protection, for fear of our mothers.  Your species needs a similar example.  And I'm going to leave them with one they will be hard pressed to dismiss."

Neyla set the menacing gunmetal gray objects down on the worktable where Loryss could just make them out from the corner of her eye.  The woman squirmed harder, and her breathing again intensified, as she recognized the objects.

"NO!  You can't!  They'll...  AUUUGH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGHHHHH!!!"

Loryss cried out as Neyla calmly flicked out a single index talon, and made a brutally efficient incision from the bottom of the Councilor's neck, to the bottom of her spine, cutting through both clothing and flesh effortlessly.

Neyla nodded slowly as she retrieved the first two nano spikes, examining them momentarily as she spoke.

"They'll what? Eat you alive?  If I understand the technology rightly, then yes...  Because your lifecode bearing organisms are too old, and not nearly malleable enough, the billions of tiny devices in these spikes will consume you, inch by inch.  The same way they consumed those that you ordered executed with the 'failsafe.'  As for whether I can or can not?"

The Gryphoness drove the spikes into Loryss' spine at forty five degree angles, exerting enough force to completely implant the devices.  The tips of the spikes irised open, interlinking to form the first familiar looking plate of a spinal psionic implant.

"I most certainly can.  And I will not be able to rest until I have."

Loryss continued to scream incoherently, shooting Fyrenn a look that begged for the mercy of a swift death.  As Neyla continued to implant the spikes by pairs, the red Gryphon shrugged, and re-settled his wings once more.

"Don't look to me.  I couldn't stop her even if I wanted to.  And I certainly don't want to."

As the final spikes locked into place, the device came online as a whole, and began to flood the Councilor's bloodstream with aggressive pre-programmed nanoparticles.  The trillions of microscopic devices quickly began to latch onto cells, attempting to forcibly modify their genetic code according to their built in directives.

Loryss writhed, and screamed, as her skin began to take on a deathly gray pallor.  Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, and braced himself.  He knew the worst was yet to come.





The sun was blood-red as it crested the Equestrian horizon.  A roiling morass of storm clouds filled the majority of the eastern sky, thickly laden with the promise of clean rain as they tracked slowly westward towards the city.

The tarmac at the Skyport had become a dizzying crush of activity.  A dozen fire suppression vehicles were clustered around the blackened wreck of the second Javelin.  A row of medical vehicles from the city coroner's office were lined up to cart away the dead, and the entire area was surrounded by military APCs and VTOLs.

Hutch, Sildinar, Stan, and Skye had long since departed along with the rescued children.  Everyone in the group had agreed that there was no sense in risking further deaths, so they had opted to refuse city services access to the young ones, instead spiriting them away to the Bureau for treatment from trusted personnel.

Alyra, Kephic, and Varan had stayed to wait for Fyrenn and Neyla, and to ensure that evidence implicating Echelon Twelve would not be tampered with.

The whole scene was bathed in a dizzying array of colored flashes from emergency vehicle lights.  Smoke and steam wafted gently away from the wreck of the Javelin, and the air was heavily laden with the sound of hurriedly barked commands, and idling engines.

The conversations abruptly died as Fyrenn and Neyla exited the hangar.  Gradually, all activity in the area ceased, as personnel turned to see what was transpiring, and became transfixed with the gruesome, terrifying sight.

Fyrenn trudged purposefully, but sedately along the tarmac, a bleached Human skeleton clutched in his foreclaws, sporting a series of unnerving gray spikes protruding from its spine.  Neyla walked beside him at a similar pace, brandishing a steel piece of rebar, with a crudely sharpened tip.

All eyes remained silently fixed on the pair, until they reached the other Gryphons.  Wordlessly, Neyla handed Alyra the impromptu spear, with a curt nod.

Fyrenn continued walking towards the wreck of the jet, pausing only when he reached what remained of the tail section.  Alyra followed, a cold rage overtaking her visage as she hefted the sharpened steel bar.

The red Gryphon silently placed Loryss remains against the side of the tail, and stepped away.  Alyra pierced the corpse momentarily with a searing glare, before abruptly hefting the rebar once more, and loosing it with surprising strength for a young fledgling.

The improvised weapon skewered what was left of Loryss' stark white skull, pinning the pitiful remains of her body to the charred tail section of the plane, like a roach pinned to the floor with a carpet tack.

The four remaining prisoners gasped and blanched.  One of the officers, a General who's nameplate identified him as 'Branson,' even vomited.  The other officials had shoulder bars identifying them as Commanders.

With barely a pause, Fyrenn turned and strode over to the four men.  He stood glowering down at their shaking forms for a long moment, before slowly withdrawing his RAC.  As he moved to stand behind the first officer in the line, he spoke atonally, and firmly.

"You stand accused of kidnapping.  Slavery.  Torture of innocents.  Murder.  Sedition.  Treason.  And Conspiracy.  You have butchered the lives of innocent children to enrich your standing, and political power."

Fyrenn leveled the rifle at the back of the first officer's head, and jammed the point of the weapon into the small of the man's neck.  The Gryphon continued speaking unabated as the general whimpered, pleading for his life in an incoherent stream of words.

"Among my kind, the non commutable, non appealable sentence for such actions, regardless of who committed them, when, where, extenuating factors, or under what authority their punishment would otherwise rest...  Is immediate death.  Prepare yourself."

Before anyone could object, Fyrenn pulled the trigger, mercilessly reducing the man's head to a fine mist to the backdrop of an ear-ringing report.  The red Gryphon moved calmly down the line, repeating the motion for each prisoner in turn, ignoring their screams for mercy, and the horrified expressions of the Human onlookers.

Once the task was complete, Fyrenn reattached the rifle to its hardpoint, and moved wordlessly to stand with his family.

As silently as they had arrived, the Gryphons grouped together, opened their wings, and departed, leaving behind a shocked and terrified group of witnesses to the gruesome, and well deserved end of Menere Loryss, and the remainder of the Twelfth Echelon's primary military officer board.





Mr. Utah gazed on with cool dispassion as the enormous crane went to work.  Under the watchful eyes of several scientists and a dozen technicians, the huge clamp dropped several feet, and delicately snagged its target.

The enormous silvery chamber was one of six identical objects.  Each measured five feet in diameter and ten in height.  The outer casing made it easy to distinguish a clear series of entwined inner tubes, filled with a milky white gas.  Each tube was capped at both ends by a laser emitter, which was in turn hardwired into the cylinder's end pieces.

Half of the devices had already been loaded onto wide-body flat-bed trucks.  Another three vehicles sat idling and empty at the end of the warehouse, awaiting the remainder of the objects.

Mr. Utah sighed, and prepared to extract and light one of his cigarettes.  To his annoyance, he was interrupted by the hurried sound of footsteps to his left.  The expression on Minos face as he made eye contact did very little to improve Mr. Utah's sudden downturn in mood.

"You have to pack it in.  We're blown."

Mr. Utah calmly extracted his cigarette, paused to light it, then gave Minos a sideways glare that froze the man in his tracks.

"Explain.  Concisely, and without your usual penchant for exaggeration and hyperbole, if that's not too much trouble."

Minos returned the glower, but maintained his concerned tone, gesticulating rapidly with both hands as he spoke.

"The Echelon has been combating a new threat over the last week...  A red Gryphon who somehow stumbled onto our work due to a breach in OpSec.  I just got word from one of our last surviving cells...  Just about everyone else is dead.  That includes one of our five Councilors, two high ranking Generals, the Admiral who funnels resources into the Agincourt project, and over a dozen other mid-level officers.  To say nothing of the hundreds of dead soldiers."

The man leaned in and lowered his tone, a note of panic creeping into his voice as Mr. Utah took a thoughtful pull on his cigarette.

"This... *Thing,* and a handful of its allies, just blew the lid off a four-decade endeavour inside a week!  We even threw our best non-Human asset at this thing, and it got sent back to us, literally, as a skinned carcass."

Mr. Utah exhaled a puffy cloud of smoke, and turned to face Minos directly.

"I know of this particular Gryphon.  He has damaged the Front's interests severely, on at least two major occasions that we know of.  Has Agincourt itself been compromised?"

Minos shook his head, leaning to the left to avoid the vaporized nicotine.

"One of the last cells is comprised of the ship's crew, and the other Admiral in our inner circle.  They fled to open water the moment they received the news, and they're standing by for my instructions...  I'm one of the only ranking members left, and our other Councilors can't risk contact."

Mr. Utah nodded slowly, taking another pull on his cigarette, then turning to face the crane as it deposited the fourth cylinder onto a waiting truck.

"Get in touch with your remaining Councilors and inform them of what is about to occur, so they can be prepared to make maximum use of it.  Then contact Agincourt and have them standby for a secure rendezvous location in the south Atlantic.  Nothing has transpired that need prevent us from accomplishing our goal."

Minos scowled, and shook his head, levelling a finger at Mr. Utah.

"You are taking a ridiculous risk already with this operation.  Didn't you people learn anything when you almost snuffed out a whole CITY in an attempt to kill just two of the Equines?!  The shadows are your ally, and the court of public opinion is moronic, and fickle.  To be honest, I don't see why I should maintain contact with you at all after today.  I no longer have any superiors forcing me to co-operate for the sake of their agendas."

Mr. Utah raised an eyebrow, and exhaled another cloud of smoke, his tone remaining surprisingly even, as he carefully phrased his response.

"You will do as I ask, and cooperate fully, for two reasons.  The first, and most pragmatic is that I will personally see to it the red Gryphon learns of your precise whereabouts if you don't.  The second is that this joint operation represents the best chance we have to put an end to non-Human military, economic, and social primacy on this planet, permanently.  So do as I have asked, or be prepared to face a most unpleasant end."

Minos fixed Mr. Utah with a long, hate-filled stare, before snorting, and making his way off down the length of the warehouse, mumbling under his breath all the while.

"I knew a relationship with these idiots was a bad idea..."





Fyrenn sighed contentedly, and rolled his shoulders, before returning his attention to the DaTab propped against the nearest pillow.

Though it had only happened days before, there was no evidence left of the assault that had broken the room's window, damaged the door, and strewn blood across half the carpet.  The space was once again clean, orderly, and laid out in its familiar configuration.

With the majority of Echelon Twelve dead, and the rest clearly too terrified to make themselves known, shrinking away in a fruitless attempt to dodge intensifying media scrutiny, Fyrenn had felt it safe to return to the Bureau.  He had no desire to deal with Captain Orik any longer, and he wanted Alyra to be surrounded by furnishings more comfortable than the ones a Battleship could offer.

Evening's dimness had come early to Manhattan, hastened by the steady drumbeat of heavy rain as it streaked down the windows, ran through the gutters, and washed away the last remains of litter from the city's civilian occupants.

The news media seemed unable to decide which story merited more coverage;  The way Fyrenn had helped uncover a serious internal government conspiracy that was experimenting on Human children, or the fact that only Bureau, Consec, JRSF and military personnel were left in the city.

The last straggling civilians had been forced out earlier in the morning, and many of the military personnel had been evacuated as well.  All that remained were a few guards, and technician break-down crews responsible for stripping the city of its resources over the next month, working ahead of the barrier as it ate away at the structures.

The bubble was not slated to actually begin consuming the city-proper until the morning of the seventh, but the government had felt it prudent to keep all civilians as far out of the line of danger as possible.

Fyrenn had spent the entire day lazing around his nest of pillows, allowing his injured bones and muscles a much needed steaming shower, and many hours of rest and gentle stretching.

Alyra had napped for several hours herself, before insisting on some exercise and a meal.  Fyrenn had obliged her on the latter, but allowed Neyla to oversee the former.  When the majority of the red Gryphon's rage had faded away, it had left him with an incredible deficiency of energy.

He had been running so long on adrenaline, hatred, and a longstanding lack of sleep, that he found it stunning he could keep his eyes open at all.  The only reason he even made an effort was to maintain some semblance of a proper circadian rhythm.  He didn't want to allow himself to nod off until sunset at the earliest.

After her exercise and a meal, Alyra had opted to move straight into evening preparations.  Though thrilled to learn that she would never need to brush her beak, she had soon discovered that she would need preening lessons.  Neyla had volunteered to teach her.

Fyrenn glanced up as the door to the room hissed open, and Alyra made her way slowly inside, pausing to let out an enormous yawn, and a reflexive stretch.  Behind her Neyla smiled, winked, and turned to return to her own room.

The red Gryphon dipped his head and smiled in thanks, before glancing down at Alyra.  He shivered reflexively from a peculiar mix of joy, and eerie shock, as he stopped to appreciate just how much Alyra looked like the biological descendant of himself, and Neyla.

The fledgling returned his smile, then sighed and glanced down.  Fyrenn tilted his head, and inhaled deeply.

"Something wrong?"

Alyra shook her head briefly, then nodded weakly.

"I just...  I couldn't help thinking of Sonya.  Everything has changed for me...  And in the best ways, but I wish she'd been here to share that.  I'm free now, but...  What does my future look like exactly, without her in it?"

The fledgling sighed once more, and began making her way towards her pallet.  Fyrenn reached out with one wing and stopped her, gesturing with a claw towards the space between him, and the nearest cluster of pillows.

Alyra smiled sadly once more, and leapt gracefully onto the nest-like bed.  Fyrenn folded his wing fully over her as she took up a stomach-oriented sleeping position mimicking his.  The red feathers formed a warm, protective canopy together with his side.

He switched off the DaTab and tossed it lightly onto the desk, before lowering his head, and tucking it to the left slightly.

"Your future is going to be wonderful.  We're going to leave here as soon as the other children are taken care of.  And then we're going to Equestria."

Fyrenn smiled, and shifted slightly as Alyra snuggled into his side, and the mattress, yawning once more and closing her eyes.

"Your future is the sharp, sweet tang of pine trees.  The cool fresh joy of a drink from a mountain stream.  The sun peeking between high, white clouds, out of a piercingly blue sky, to warm the feathers of your back.  Your future is the thrill of the hunt, and the fulfillment of fighting to protect the things in the world that truly matter."

The red Gryphon reached for the nearest control pad, and lowered the room's lights.  For the first time, no artificial city-light spilled in through the room's immense window.  The structures beyond the plate-glass were cast only in the silvery tones of Equestrian moonlight.

Fyrenn closed his eyes and slowed his breathing as he continued.

"Your future is the taste of real, fresh, well seasoned meat.  The scent of tempered leather, hot steel, and wood shavings.  The sensation of a clear, clean, living breeze, and fresh cold drops of rain."

The red Gryphon squeezed his daughter gently with his wing, before lowering his voice nearly to a whisper, as he felt her breathing slow and dip into slumbering patterns.

"Your future is a whole new culture, and history, and language to explore.  Your future is to have a father, and a mother, and a whole family of others, who love you deeply and unconditionally.  Every day.  From now, until forever.  Your future is joy.

Fyrenn briefly opened one eye, and noted that Alyra was smiling as she drifted further and further from consciousness.  The red Gryphon found himself smiling as his eyes teared up ever so slightly.  He began to hum another of his mother's lullabies as both he, and Alyra drifted away.

For one night at last, total peace descended, in body and mind, for Fyrenn and his family.
> Chapter 54
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 6th, Gregorian Calendar

Neyla chuckled, and shook her head as she tore off another strip of her breakfast.  Synth meat dipped in some sort of sweet and sour sauce.

"He is exaggerating.  It wasn't *that* bad..."

Alyra giggled as Fyrenn rolled his eyes, and snorted.  The elder Gryphon shot Neyla a wry glance, and raised an eyebrow.

"She drove directly into everything but the kitchen sink.  And only half of it intentionally.  I've never seen anyone do more damage with nothing but the chassis and treads of a vehicle."

Neyla nodded vigorously, and leveled an index talon.

"More than you did with the main gun."

Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head, an enormous grin plastering itself to the edges of his beak.

"Oh you want to go there?  Well next time, we can swap seats and you can see just how hard it is to track small targets with a weapon designed to kill other tanks!"

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and shook her head slowly.

"The only problem with that?  I want to live through the experience, the next time I get into a Human vehicle.  I don't feel very good about my chances if you're at the controls.  Not after what you did in the Javelin."

Fyrenn raised a claw, inhaled, and opened his beak to deliver a retort.  The words were on the tip of his tongue when a voice from behind interrupted him.  The red Gryphon swiveled his head, locking eyes with Sildinar and perking his ears.

"Fyrenn.  You have a visitor."

The roan Gryphon's eyes conveyed a sense of mild, but valid urgency.  Fyrenn nodded slowly, then glanced swiftly between Alyra, and Neyla.

"I'll be back in time for lunch."

Neyla nodded, and waved a claw.

"Don't be concerned.  I no longer have any specific duties, now that the evacuation has ended."

Fyrenn smiled, and inclined his head appreciatively as he rose from the table.  He winked down at Alyra, and raised one eyebrow slightly.

"No tank lessons."

The fledgling did her best to adopt a mock pout, but failed miserably, collapsing into a fit of giggles as Fyrenn made his way out of the cafeteria behind Sildinar.  The Bureau's atrium was eerily empty, and silent.

Sildinar did not speak until the two Gryphons had made their way into the lift, and the compartment had begun its ascent.

"She is acclimating well.  Fledglings are resilient beyond anything we give them credit for..."

Fyrenn nodded, and smiled slightly.

"I was so afraid.  Fearful of what she might become after the death of her sister, fearful that she wouldn't come to think of me as her kin...  But so far she has been amazingly optimistic.  She is better at holding back the tides of bitterness than most, and that will serve her well in life.  And she seems eager for family life."

Sildinar returned the smile, and flicked one ear slightly.

"And you?"

Fyrenn tilted his head back and forth momentarily, and sighed.

"I'm glad, without reservations, to have brothers.  Though I'm nervous, I am eager to be a good father too.  But I'm still struggling with the idea of creating familial ties in other ways.  I don't have Neyla's capacity for raw optimism and daring.  And I don't share her high opinion of me."

Sildinar shook his head slowly, gazing out and down into the Atrium until the lift passed into the opaque portion of its riser tube.

"Taking a mate is much like becoming a parent, in that you can never be as ready the ridiculous standards you hold yourself to.  There is, true, a certain amount of caution required, and a healthy dose of maturity, but you are not a young lovestruck fool.  You are old and wise enough to make life-impacting decisions without allowing yourself to become the thing you fear."

Silence reigned as the lift reached its destination.  The two Gryphons exited, and made their way to a conference room.  Fyrenn shivered as he took note of the still and quiet emptiness of the corridors.

His attention was swiftly diverted however, as the door opened, and a familiar, yet highly unexpected visage greeted him.  He allowed the first words that came to mind to spring forth.

"I'm glad to see you're recovering."

Fyrenn winced slightly as Celestia turned to gaze directly at him.  Her mane appeared several shades duller than usual to his perception.  Though he knew Human eyes would miss the difference, to him it was an appreciable and measurable indicator of the drain the Alicorn had placed upon herself.

As Sildinar excused himself, the Princess sighed, and nodded wearily.

"I am doing my best, but circumstances seem to be conspiring to hinder my efforts.  These are stressful times, for a variety of reasons."

Fyrenn nodded, and tilted his head, waiting for the second half of the thought that Celestia's tone implied was forthcoming.  The Alicorn sighed once more, and closed her eyes as she continued.

"Imagine, if you will, my reaction when I discover that you are the source of the latest political disaster to cross my path."

The red Gryphon tensed slightly, and his eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly as the muscles in his face hardened.  Celestia opened her eyes, and did her best to pierce Fyrenn with a gaze laden with a variety of negative emotions.

"Your actions have created severe, damaging polarization at a time when we can not afford disunity amongst Humankind.  This world is facing an ecological crisis of immense proportions...  The Bureaus hold out the only workable solution for the vast majority of the population.  You have directly antagonized both the majority of the Earthgov, and a vocal appreciable minority of the populace!  Why?!"

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes further, his ears flattening reflexively as his anger mounted.  He kept his tone level, but he did nothing to prevent a subtle hint of his fury from leaking into his words.

"I respect you, immensely.  So please honor this request;  Don't provoke me.  You are talking about a situation you don't fully understand, and you're questioning my judgement in the process.  You are effectively suggesting I should have handed the problem with sub-rosa dealings and backroom politics...  And I resent any such conception more than I can describe.  So if you are of that opinion?  Keep it to yourself, for both our sakes."

Celestia shook her head emphatically, and returned the red Gryphon's glower.

"Because *I* respect *you,* I can not remain silent on this point."

The Alicorn raised a hoof as Fyrenn prepared to cut her off, continuing calmly and forcefully.

"I can not, do not, and will not, blame you for taking some extreme measures to protect your daughter...  Even to the point of taking lives.  But surely, you must see that you crossed a line.  It is one thing to defend yourself and others.  Even to make a statement in victory.  It is another thing to bypass due process on a large scale.  To injure and kill members of your own government.  To carry out what were, essentially, political assassinations."

Fyrenn threw up his claws, raising his voice slightly.

"Well what would you have done?  Risked her life for the sake of sparing some worthless politicians a public humiliation?  Allowed these people to cower behind the lawyers, courts, and electoral systems they built, bought, and control?"

Celestia's eyes softened slightly, and she exhaled slowly.

"I would have found some sort of middle-ground.  Fyrenn...  You have not simply humiliated a few mid-ranking Councilors.  You have given radical, violent pro-Humanists, and anti-Humanists both *credibility,* for the first time!  You have publicly made an exhibition of the Human government.  Set a dangerous precedent that potentially makes their decisions subservient to the beliefs and protocols of a different species!  And you've shown the world that Human governance is helpless to resist if your kind decides to press them on an issue."

Fyrenn shook his head and blinked rapidly.

"Why would anyone want to be led by hypocrites, who viciously exploit inequality that they themselves take pains to maintain at every turn?  I spared the Human race from decades of future leadership under psychopaths.  Maybe the fact that we're able, and willing to do what no one else could, or would, should be comforting, not frightening."

The Alicorn sighed once more, and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"And what makes you think that the rest of Earthgov will see it that way?  What makes you think that the civilian population will see it that way?  What makes you think another such situation won't one day arise on a larger scale?  Frankly I am not sure what is worse;  The anger and shame you have generated in the government, or the sympathy and sentiment for your behaviour that you've whipped up in the general population.  Humans are eager to mistrust their leaders, and you're feeding that paranoia.  In turn that only increases the government's furor, and as a result, they withdraw cooperation at critical junctures."

The red Gryphon exhaled sharply, and glanced to the side, shaking his head once more with fervor.

"I disagree with the assertion that I have that much potential influence.  People already distrust the government, and with good reason.  The institution has been rotting.  For centuries.  All I did was kick over the top layer and remind everyone, myself included, how deep it goes.  They don't deserve their power.  It has to be taken from them.  Before they abuse it any further."

Celestia exhaled slowly in frustration, piercing Fyrenn with a painfully sad stare.

"You disappoint me.  Your potential is boundless...  And you have made so much progress, in so many ways...  But you are thinking too narrowly, and too aggressively.  You are not simply a soldier, or even a warrior anymore.  You are also a public figure, and an important political lynchpin between my kind, yours, and Humanity.  You can not afford to continue behaving as if you are a lone fighter, standing up for his beliefs.  You have to behave like a leader!"

Fyrenn hissed loudly, and flared his wings, shouting outright at last in a tone that carried more anxiety and frustration than anything else.

"Well what if I don't WANT to be a public figure?!  I didn't sign on for Conversion so I could get influence, or a leadership role!  I did it because I wanted to be a Gryphon, and I did it because I wanted to have a family!  These 'people,' threatened my family!  Both of my species!  So I did what had to be done!  Politics?  Diplomacy?  Subtlety?  These people THRIVE on the indulgences of apathetic, exhausted, oppressed populations, and pacifist idealist leaders like you."

The monarch hung her head, and sat back on her haunches.  Silence fell for a moment, as Celestia glanced out the room's main window.  When she resumed speaking, her tone was slightly conciliatory.

"This visit was originally intended to be an important stepping stone towards greater cooperation.  I planned to come to Earth, and propose a trilateral agreement in which the Kingdoms would provide further troops to make a final push against the Human Liberation Front, Humanity would agree to create a multi-species military academy, and measures would be taken to allow the Equestrian nation to neutrally arbitrate a series of inquiries and panels to ensure nothing like Vancouver ever happens again."

Celestia glanced up, and blinked slowly as she continued.  Fyrenn returned her gaze without flinching.

"After what Sildinar has told me?  I also feel something needs to be done about the children you rescued.  But the way in which you went about all this has, paradoxically in your eyes I imagine, hindered their chances at a better future.  There was nothing wrong with attacking these subversives.  Where you erred was in executing officers, and politicians, without trial.  Had you taken prisoners, shared information, and allowed Human justice to run its course, we would not be in this situation...  But now?"

The solar monarch snorted, and shook her head.

"Now you've put the Human government in a terrible position.  Surely as a career soldier, you studied Earth's war history.  Do you remember nothing of 'Victor's Justice?'  Did your people learn no lessons at Versailles?  Humiliation is an exceedingly dangerous weapon.  You can't accurately judge its future effects, nor potential for blowback.  You've directly damaged the United Earth Government's credibility and standing, at a time of critical pressure and mounting instability."

Celestia rose, and began to pace slowly as she continued.  

"You showed them up, made them look like nothing more than figureheads.  Maybe in some ways revealed the truth, in too harsh a light.  In doing so, you have taken an issue with gray areas, and room for debate...  And you made it into something charged, immediate, and polarizing.  You did exactly what any other member of your kind would have done in your position, and that *frightens* me!"

Fyrenn chuckled grimly, and humorlessly, sitting back on his haunches and pinching the bridge of his beak between a thumb and index talon.

"We're not subtle creatures, ma'am.  We see something unjust, and we have no choice but to handle it as warriors.  It is our identity."

Celestia held up a hoof, and tilted her head slightly.

"I refuse to accept the implied concept in that statement;  That your identity as a warrior race precludes your leaders from learning how to be subtle, diplomatic, and cautious, when billions of lives hang in the balance.  You say you do not want to be a leader?  That in and of itself is part of what makes you naturally qualified.  Circumstances have made you influential, and you do not have the option to lay that aside."

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to the side.

"Don't I?  If I told you that when I leave this planet next, that I will not be returning after that...  What would you say?  If I said that I'm done.  No more battles on this Earth on anyone's behalf.  If I told you that I plan to find a place to put down roots, raise my daughter, and live a happy, fulfilled life as a citizen of my Kingdom...  Keep our warrior identities far away from you, and your political project...  How would that make you feel?"

A silence born of shock hung heavily over the room.  Celestia's expression was, for the most part, pure stunned surprise.  Pain, disappointment, and even the tiniest hint of panic flitted almost-imperceptibly across the muscles of her jaw, and the cant of her ears.

At long last, the Alicorn inhaled slowly, speaking with a deliberate manner that indicated she was choosing her words with utmost care.

"I know you've never been afraid of me.  Or at least, you never let my status and power have any sort of undue influence on your actions, as with the others of your kind...  While that is, in a way, refreshing for me, it also makes you unpredictable in the most incredibly frustrating manner.  I am an empathetic pragmatist trying to orchestrate the best possible outcome.  For all allied species.  You have a responsibility to maintain some level of involvement in that endeavor, because whether you like it or not?  You are already inextricably *involved!*"

Fyrenn leaned forward, staring across the table, narrowing his eyes, and inclining his head slightly.

"What do you want from me?  I can't imagine you diverted from your planned route just to yell at me incessantly for doing what I felt was necessary.  For doing the right thing, that nobody with investment in the status quo wanted to do.  What is it you want to hear me say?  Or see me do?  As long as it isn't unreasonable, I have no objection.  I do not want to be involved in politics, so I patently refuse.  I just want to accomplish whatever is needed for you, and every other politician, to leave me and mine *alone* in peace."

Celestia's expression turned downwards, and for the first time became completely clear.  The monarch was visibly hurt, and Fyrenn felt a slight pang of regret at the effect of his words.  The Alicorn sighed, and shook her head slowly.

"I am...  Sorry you feel that way.  I believe we want the same outcomes in all this.  I also believe that, if you would only accept it, you could play an important role in bringing three species closer together.  My frustration is partially my own fault I suppose.  I radically misjudged your state of mind.  I thought some exposure to the situation...  Object lessons in your effectiveness...  Would sway you to take on a greater role.  I was mistaken, and for that I have only myself to blame."

Fyrenn sat back, cocked his head, and widened his eyes slightly as he spoke.

"I see now...  You assumed I was going to cling to a greater measure of my Human tendencies than I actually did in the long run...  And you were relying on those to keep me grounded in the political sphere.  To make me more pragmatic."

Celestia looked away abruptly, causing Fyrenn to lean further forward, and lay his forelegs on the table as he continued.

"You're right.  You misjudged.  I carry the important parts of my Humanity with me.  Adaptability, species tolerance, and innate drives...  But I never saw this 'needs of the many' crap as a built-in part of my Humanity.  I'm happy to lay myself on a wire for innocents I'll never meet.  I'm happy to lead sworn warriors into battle, knowing we may not come back.  But I'm not willing to risk my family, let alone the youngest member in it, for the sake of political status quo.  I'm certainly not about to allow the people who run this planet as a prison for the impoverished to get away with what they did.  And I don't care if that means others die later as an indirect result.  At least they die freer than before.  The choice was not entirely mine in this case, after all."

The Solar monarch snorted softly, and finally swiveled her head back to center.

"Honestly?  I'd hoped that you would become more than simply a warrior.  And you have.  But my mistake was in thinking anyone of your kind could ever be anything less than a warrior *first.*  I projected the things I value about my species onto you, and hoped you'd change yours in ways that you can't." 

Celestia sighed, and dipped her head.

"I see now that your identity as a warrior was only strengthened by the Conversion.  And...  While I still refuse to condone your behavior, I apologize for my miscalculation, and any misunderstanding it caused.  I am not angry with you in spite of my disappointment.  Only frustrated with the situation."

Fyrenn leaned back, and exhaled slowly, trying to release some of his tension.

"And...  I'm sorry for being short with you.  I have been under enormous pressure to bend in this direction, or that...  And I am concerned mainly with the safety of my family.  I'm not politically ambitious and I'm not interested in being anyone's 'new hope' except for Alyra.  I mean no offence to you at all, I value your wisdom.  Maybe you're even right about some of what I've done...  But that doesn't change the facts.  Nor my mind."

The red Gryphon held up a claw, and raised an eyebrow.

"That being said;  I am willing to help in whatever way I can, right now, right here, for two reasons.  The first is that I want those children downstairs to have a real shot at a normal existence.  Off-planet."

Fyrenn sighed, and  his gaze softened as he continued.

"The second is that I don't want our friendship, such as it may be, to end over this.  Maybe you see me as only a friend of utility.  I have no problem with that.  But I think of you more as a mentor I don't deserve.  I'm only a warrior.  All I ever wanted to be was just a good, strong, upstanding fighter.  You're different.  You're a ruler.  That comes with baggage I don't feel comfortable about...  But your age also comes with wisdom."

Celestia smiled slightly, for the first time, and blinked.

"You have studied Aristotle.  And here I sat believing most Humans had abandoned his concepts in favor of post-modern philosophers."

The Alicorn tilted her head, and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"There is still something about you that is different from your kind at large.  Something new that the Human spirit brought along.  Maybe I mischaracterized it at first, but it still stands to be of great benefit to us all.  Of that I am still sure."

She sighed once more, and glanced down at the table, before continuing.

"Putting aside all else but the present;  Yes.  I want your help in doing something on behalf not only of these children, but all the orphans of this planet.  They have fallen through the cracks for too long, and we are remiss if we do not put the resources we have to work on their behalf."

Fyrenn nodded emphatically, and lightly thumped the table with a fisted claw.

"On that, we can agree without any reservation.  So I take it you have a plan?"

Celestia nodded, and her expression once again fell slightly.  She blinked for a moment, and exhaled sharply.

"Yes.  I have hopes for an adoption program that opens up Conversion for orphaned children who would otherwise be bound from the option by age-limitations.  A way for the outcast and forgotten of this planet to find homes on ours.  I have even begun to make political inroads and preparations.  Several Councilors are ready to back initial legislation packages.  But they have a new condition."

The red Gryphon leaned forward once more, and raised an eyebrow as he waited for the proverbial second shoe to drop.

The Alicorn exhaled again, and spoke slowly, in an even tone.

"I've been directly and formally asked, by high ranking members of the Earthgov, to convince you to stand trial for your actions."

Celestia raised a hoof as Fyrenn's face hardened, interjecting sharply to ensure her entire thought was heard before judgement was passed.

"I fully understand that you can not be compelled to acquiesce by Human authority, due to your dual citizenship status.  I also understand that I have no authority whatsoever to dictate your actions."

The monarch paused to ensure Fyrenn was ready to listen, before continuing in a calmer tone.

"I am simply asking you, as a friend, to do this.  For the sake of the benefits it will bring about.  You may not like politics...  I can't entirely blame you all things considered...  But facts are facts.  Your cooperation here will directly pave the way for many, many other young ones to gain fathers and mothers."

Fyrenn glanced out the window, and inhaled slowly, his ears flattening and his tail beginning to sweep back and forth in agitation.

Celestia leaned forward, and pressed her request forward in both tone and expression.

"I promise you.  I give you my absolute word as a ruler;  If you do this, I will bring about the results we both want to see.  I am begging you to let me do this.  Swallow your pride, however justified or unjustified it may be, and 'lay down on the wire,' as you put it."

After a long, tense pause, Fyrenn turned his gaze back to the Equine, and sighed.

"Give me specifics.  I won't promise you anything without specifics."

The Alicorn nodded and sat back slightly, ruffling her wings absently to place them in a more comfortable configuration.

"They want to try you via your Earthgov citizenship, and Military standing, under the articles of your Uniform Code of Military Justice.  A panel of Councilor oversight would be present, and the trial would be carried out by a military tribunal.  The Council wants to avoid having to appoint a jury of peers, because your standing as a JRSF officer would require that jury be made up mostly of other Gryphons, who would be impossible to sway to a guilty verdict."

Celestia leveled a hoof at Fyrenn, and narrowed her eyes slightly.

"You must remember though;  They have no power to physically punish you, or incarcerate you.  The Accords protect your freedom, and your person, due to your status as a citizen of the Gryphon Kingdoms."

Fyrenn nodded, and glowered, crossing his forelegs as he spoke.

"Oh I grasp that...  But I also understand that this is essentially a show-trial.  They will do whatever they have to in order to get a public guilty verdict.  Those officers will have been instructed, perhaps not in so many words, that if they fail to find in favor of the Earthgov, they will lose their positions and standings.  It's not justice.  It's a propaganda piece.  They need to humiliate the image of me as a soldier in order to restore a faux image of authority to their office."

Celestia paused, then nodded slowly.

"Yes.  And while I find that disgusting as well, unlike you I have fewer qualms about acquiescing.  I play a long game, young one.  You and I will both live to see this world vanish from existence.  The very government seeking to put your perceived wrongdoings on display?  Will cease to exist before your daughter is even old enough to hold high military office among your own kind.  But between now and then, many Human lives will remain at risk if we do not allow Earthgov to restore some modicum of credibility, false though it be."

Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head slowly.

"I don't know what else you hope to accomplish, but it won't happen.  If I agree to go before this tribunal?  The results are not going to be what you expect.  Not in the slightest."

Celestia hung her head, and chuckled grimly, a note of melancholy tinging her words.

"What have you done Fyrenn?"

The red Gryphon smiled slightly, and raised an eyebrow.

"I may not like to get caught up in politics, but I have learned a thing or two about how to give it a good solid face-slap when I need to get something done.  Being a soldier teaches you how to cut red tape, and being around people like yourself teaches one how to be a deft manipulator.  No offense."

Celestia leaned forward, and placed both of her front hooves on the table.

"What exactly have you done?"

Fyrenn held out a claw, and gestured.

"Riddle me this;  Will your Councilors hold up their bargains if they don't get precisely the result they were hoping for?"

The Alicorn nodded slowly, and cradled her forehead briefly with one hoof.

"Yes...  The interim goals we have set forth will be accomplished.  But oh how I wish you had simply left things as they lay.  The damage to good order and stability that you've caused, and are still causing, will resonate across the world for the rest of its lifespan.  There was some chance to undo more than a small part of that damage if you had but allowed these fools who play at kingship to have their brief and vapid moment."

The red Gryphon smirked, and snorted.

"I have no patience for fools, nor false kings.  So...  I will agree to this, presuming you can handle the complication I've introduced."

Fyrenn sat back, and smiled slightly.

"Allow me to explain just *precisely* how much of a pain in the ass I am going to be today..."
> Chapter 55
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

The inky black water of the Caribbean lapped against the side of the Retribution like an oil slick.  The peace of night's dark shroud was intermittently pierced by the whine of servos and hydraulic rams, as a series of cranes carefully maneuvered their precious cargo into the Retribution's open rear bays.

Mr. Utah stood at the end of the pier, finishing the last cigarette of his pack with care, to ensure he savored every last inch of the paper wrapped substance.

As he watched his men work under the dim illumination of black-out lamps, the Retribution's captain approached from the nearest gangway.  The man held up a small DaTab, and gestured.

"Sir?  You have a communique."

Mr. Utah nodded, and took the DaTab in his free hand, pressing the un-mute key with a thumb as he removed his cigarette.

"Speak."

Minos' voice emanated from the device, slightly garbled by the low quality encoding necessitated by heavy encryption.

"We expect to arrive at the rendezvous point by late morning."

Mr. Utah nodded, and took another draw on his cigarette before responding.

"We will arrive by zero nine hundred.  Attack to commence at thirteen hundred.  Your ship is prepared?"

Minos' voice seemed slightly recalcitrant, but it was nonetheless firm.

"We are fully armed and ready.  You are positive we only need to hold the platform for six hours?"

Mr. Utah exhaled a large cloud of smoke, and dropped the expended butt of his cigarette onto the pier, stamping it out firmly.

"Six hours.  And then this war will be over.  Once and for all."





"This is absolutely ridiculous.  How can you possibly let them go on with this insanity?"

Fyrenn offered Kephic a half-smile, and nudged him in the shoulder.

"Relax.  I don't like it either, but ultimately?  It is just words in a room.  There is nothing these people can do but waste our time.  And really, if it buys the favors Celestia needs for her new initiative?  Then it isn't a waste at all."

The red Gryphon glanced around the interior of the heavy VTOL, then leaned over to the nearest window, estimating that the vehicle would reach its destination momentarily.  Aside from Kephic, Varan, and Sildinar, the only other occupants of the compartment were a pair of Military Policemen.

Ostensibly the officers were there to keep custody of Fyrenn;  In reality, they simply shuffled awkwardly in the corner, having no real purpose given that protocol, and the instinct for self-preservation, prevented them from so much as stepping near the red Gryphon.

Fyrenn had insisted that Alyra remain at the Bureau.  Neyla, Carradan, and Skye had volunteered to remain with her.  Celestia had traveled on to Vancouver for negotiations and press conferences.

The VTOL's engines increased in pitch momentarily, before spooling down as the craft thudded to rest on a large concrete circle.  The rear door pivoted open with a hiss and a whine, to reveal a large complex of steel and duracrete structures, bounded by water on three sides.

The Navy complex at Annapolis had the nearest facilities and personnel to facilitate a military tribunal.  Fyrenn guessed that the three Councilors tasked with overseeing the proceedings had arrived overnight.

He rose and stretched, yawning calmly before striding casually down the ramp and onto the helipad.  The two MPs shuffled awkwardly to one side, weapons lowered.  Fyrenn knew they expected him to behave as if he were their charge, but he had no intention of doing so.

He paused for an intentionally long moment to take in the complex as Varan, Kephic, and Sildinar disembarked behind him.  The compound was modern, well appointed, and strongly fortified.  Nevertheless, the glittering glass and steel of the superstructures showed definitive signs of the impending Barrier.

Many windows were unlit despite the foggy gray afternoon, and many offices empty;  Devoid entirely of people, and furnishings.  Though the facility had a month or more before the bubble arrived, it was obviously preparing for a draw-down.

Fyrenn sighed, and at last began making his way down the nearest footpath at a sedate pace.  It was not his first visit to Annapolis, and he knew precisely where his attendance was desired.

The military Judge Advocate General maintained a dedicated building within the campus.  The structure was tall, blocky, and clearly designed with an eye for imposing form-factor.  A circle of flags adored the front synth-lawn, displaying the Earthgov flag, the unified Military flag, and the flag of each individual branch on either side.

Flanked by Kephic and Varan, with Sildinar just behind, Fyrenn made his way through the front entrance of the structure.  The interior of the building was appointed mainly in faux oak paneling, and granite trim.  A further attempt at creating an imposing façade to radiate authority.

As the MPs followed awkwardly, Fyrenn made his way towards a small gaggle of officers clustered around a large entry door on the right side of the corridor.  The men and women were engaged in a hushed conversation, which ended abruptly with the Gryphons' arrival.  The officers consisted mainly of Army and Marine Major Generals, and Navy Commodores.

In silence, tensely glancing down at their boots, the three men, and two women made their way into the room, closing the door behind them.  Fyrenn sighed, rolled his eyes, and began to pace slowly before the door as the court room was prepared.

The red Gryphon snorted softly as he listened to the officers and Councilors recite reams of procedure and legalese for the better part of fifteen minutes.  At last, one of the MPs placed a hand to his earpiece, then reached out and pushed open the door, gesturing for Fyrenn to enter.

The court room was dimly lit;  A long mostly rectangular chamber ending in a semi-circle.  The five upper-level officers sat on a raised dais at the center, under an Earthgov military flag adorning the wall.

To the left in the otherwise-empty press box sat Hutch, and Lantry.  Their presence surprised Fyrenn.  The two men, and woman sitting in the Jurors' box did not.  Fyrenn recognized the three Councilors, though he felt no particular desire to recall their names.

Fyrenn had made it clear that he had no desire, nor need for court-appointed defense.  The act was one of stark belligerence, given his total lack of formal legal training. 

As he made his way to the defendant's bench, Kephic and Varan accompanied him.  Sildinar peeled off, and joined the Generals in the press box.  The red Gryphon shot a stony glance at the prosecuting attorney, before seating himself calmly.

As Kephic and Varan took up flanking positions, the prosecutor rose, and held up a hand.

"Point of order;  The defendant requested no legal council, and is in no way entitled to bring guests to the defendant's table."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, and chuckled darkly.  Varan spoke softly, but projected his voice to ensure his dispassionate, bass tones would get his point across.

"If you'd like to dredge up pointless minutiae, we could conceivably argue that this proceeding has no place as part of a tribunal.  What are your feelings on comprehensive media involvement, for example?"

The Major General seated in the center of the judgement bench cast a withering glare down at the prosecutor.  The man shuffled backwards a half step, and waved his hand awkwardly.

"Withdrawn."

The General rose, and slammed a small steel gavel down onto a similarly armored baseplate.

"This Tribunal is now in session, as per Article eight-eight-five of the Earthgov Uniform Code of Military Justice.  Brigadier General Stimson presiding, with Brigadier General Sharpe, Brigadier General Nyass, Commodore Elliston, and Commodore Leytan."

The aforementioned General Sharpe, a young woman with short-cut auburn hair and a severe demeanor, rose and gestured expansively.

"The court will hear opening arguments.  Defense, please rise."

Fyrenn stood, and made his way forward to stand before the dais.  The structure had been designed to place the judge, or tribunal oversight board, well above the average Human without making them look pompously elevated.  Awkwardly for the men and women of the board, Fyrenn elected to stand on his hind legs, placing him easily at their eye-level.

Sharpe raised her right hand, and nodded towards Fyrenn.

"Raise your right...  Claw."

The red Gryphon mimicked her gesture.  When he had first signed on in the military, defendants and lawyers had not been required to initially swear the same oaths as witnesses.  The protocol had changed several years prior, along with several other things that had previously been courtroom staples.

At one time, witnesses had been allowed to swear upon the religious text of their choosing if they asked.  That protocol had been struck down by activist groups in favor of simply swearing over a folded Earthgov flag.  Fyrenn thought the change silly;  The product of cowards essentially admitting their fear of faith.

Internally, he did find himself forced to admit that it streamlined the process significantly.  Though it offended his moral sensibilities, it appealed to his logistical and organizational mentalities.

Sharpe gestured, and two officers of the court produced a folded flag, tentatively approaching Fyrenn, and holding up the object for him to place his free left claw on it.

Sharpe nodded curtly.

"Repeat the following:  I do solemnly swear, under the oath of soldiers of the United Earth Government Military, that I will speak truthfully in all matters pertaining to these proceedings.  That I will obey the dictates of the court, and cooperate fully with the officers therein.  And that I will abide by the Uniform Code of Military Justice at all times."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes slightly, and repeated the words in staccato military fashion, atonally and loudly.

The General nodded as the flag was taken away.

"You may present an opening argument.  Since you have elected to forego council, I have been advised to instruct you that you will still be expected to abide by courtroom protocol.  Opening arguments are not subject to such strictures however, so you have leeway to speak freely at this time."

Sharpe tugged on the edges of her uniform to straighten it, and sat.  Fyrenn, for his part, remained frighteningly close to the dais, pacing slowly to make sure he spread the intimidation of his physical presence evenly over the assembled officers.

"I have no special argument in defense of my actions, as I feel that none is needed.  I did you all a service by finding, and eliminating, a domestic threat.  The oath you swear, and the oath I once swore, stipulates that we do everything in our power to defend the innocent from all threats, both foreign and domestic.  I believe the spirit of that oath supersedes the letter of lesser laws."

Fyrenn shrugged, and inclined his head slightly, changing his path to pass before the Jurors' box, giving him an opportunity to spear the assembled Councilors with a subtle death glare as he continued.

"I will point out that this proceeding is both questionable in its legality, and pointless in its effect.  This court lacks authority to mete out any particularly severe punishment in my case.  Any actions this court is authorized to take will do very little to affect the public perception of recent events, in spite of your misplaced hopes to the contrary.  And if you truly believe my actions were illegal, one might argue that you are 'stooping to my level' by responding to one illegal action with another."

The red Gryphon raised a claw as he made his way slowly back to the defendant's table.

"Although...  One could also argue that my actions were committed under duress and exceptional circumstances.  Yours were not."

Fyrenn turned to face General Stimson, and raised an eyebrow.

"I formally move for a mistrial."

Stimson exhaled sharply, and shook his head emphatically.

"Denied.  The concept does not apply to a tribunal.  You are here to answer for accusations of war crimes, and as such you have reduced rights."

The red Gryphon nodded as he resumed his seat.

"True.  But I also have unique standing with a separate governmental and military entity.  You are bound by law to respect Accord stipulations of your alliance with us.  We have a royal representative of the Kingdoms here today...  What do you suppose would happen if I formally requested he lodge an injunction demanding this be tried under a joint-court as per my rights within the Kingdoms?"

Stimson blanched, and his breathing went shallow.  Fyrenn found it internally amusing that he could read a multitude of signs of fear on the tribunal's faces, while they were at a complete loss to understanding the subtleties of his expressions.

The Gryphon allowed the concern to percolate until the Councilors in the Jurors' box actually began to whisper in low panicked tones.  He waved his claw absently, and sighed.

"Proceed then.  I will make no formal attempt to stop this.  As I said...  What would the point be either way?  That being said?  I would appreciate it if you dispensed with appearances and completed your task as quickly as possible, so as not to waste time."

Fyrenn smiled slightly, driving home the damage he had done.  Regardless of whether or not the trial ever became a matter of public record, and regardless of the final outcome, he had proven for the record that the proceedings were only occurring by his leave.

Celestia would have, he guessed, referred to it as unnecessary arrogance.  Fyrenn liked to think of it as a tactical double-down.  He had doubts that his case would be the last instance of a Gryphon being forced to violate Earth laws to accomplish a task.  Fyrenn decided that it would be potentially useful to get some added function out of the trial, on behalf of those future fighters.

He understood that Celestia, Lantry, Aston, and perhaps even Hutch would have argued that he was doing further damage.  As far as Fyrenn was concerned, that was a good thing.  He had no particular grudge with Humanity, but he certainly felt a growing malice towards its political bodies.

The low and mid levels of the military had always treated him well.  The civilian populace was distant, but vaguely familiar.  Certainly ingenious, and often kinder than one might expect given the terrible lot so many of them were handed in life.

Humanity's governing bodies, however, Fyrenn despised.  When he had been a soldier they were more often an obstacle than anything else.  More recently, they had done little more than bicker and squabble over pointless things, while a cancerous series of infiltrations grew from within, and an ecological catastrophe ate the world from without.  And all the while promising unity, freedom, peace and prosperity, while silently funding terror, manipulating the populace into petty squabbles, and withholding vast stores of post-singularity resources to enrich their corporate and military sponsors.

Politics, though not Fyrenn's favorite subject, were one thing.  They could be useful, and moral in the right hands and hooves.  Traitorous behavior, disregard for internal warning signs, use and abuse of the general populace, and rank idiocy, were something entirely different.  

Fyrenn realized with a start that the prosecuting attorney had begun to drone on and one about his alleged crimes, and what the government's prosecution 'would prove beyond a shadow of a doubt,' and so on and so forth.

The red Gryphon shook himself internally, noting that Earthgov hadn't been as poorly organized when he first enlisted.  He idly wondered if the decline was due more to stress from the impending barrier, or an overabundance of unchecked hidden corruption, which was simply finally showing itself in public for the first time.  Perhaps both.

He sighed, and reflected that Celestia, and many of his Human companions, would likely admonish him to remember the good with the bad;  Remind him that he was operating under negativity bias.  Fyrenn decided that while that was likely true, he was finished listening to the prosecutor's babble.  'The good with the bad' was, if his readings of Human history were even half accurate, rarely anything more than a call to arms against those who would as questions, by those who worshipped status quo.

He raised a claw, and stood.

"Objection.  Relevance?"

Stimson blinked, then blinked again.  The prosecutor blustered incoherently as the General slammed down his gavel, and glared.  The expression was unimpressive, given that the man's ill-concealed nervousness bled through his attempt at a commanding demeanor.

"I am not sure where to even begin lieutenant.  Firstly you don't get to object to an opening argument.  Secondly...  Are you seriously questioning the relevance of an opening argument?"

Fyrenn nodded, and shrugged his wings.  Kephic did his best not to chuckle as his brother spoke.

"I just figured that, since you've already been essentially ordered by the Council to find guilty---"

Stimson rapped his gavel once more, and gestured emphatically.

"Sidebar.  *Now.*"

Fyrenn approached calmly, noting with amusement that the prosecutor shifted well to the side to avoid any semblance of proximity to his talons.

General Stimson again tried to muster a tepid glower, as he conversed in a low tone that came off more as panicky conspiratorialist than calm authority figure.

"You will respect the protocols of this proceeding or---"

Fyrenn snorted, and chuckled dryly.

"Or what?  You'll put points on my driver's license?  Garnish my wages?  Revoke my citizenship?  Fire me and withhold my retirement pay?  Reduce me in rank?  Babble incoherently about contempt of court?  We all three know that this is a farce, and a waste of our time.  I'm only here because a friend asked a favor, so she could cut important deals, and you know it.  You're only here because you think you can make a show of power by spouting legalese then paying someone to write a couple articles in the Times, which no one will read, about how I was duly and severely punished, and I know it."

The red Gryphon shrugged once more as he continued, causing the prosecutor to jump reflexively.

"We're all aware, on some level conscious or not, that every member of this tribunal has been strongly pressured to find me guilty, because we all know that even the members of the Council who didn't participate in Echelon 12 directly knew about it, at least tangentially, and tacitly endorsed it.  We're all aware, quite consciously, that there is nothing you can do by way of punishment that *matters* in any real sense, and therefore it follows that this is all fundamentally a waste of my time, and yours.  Just cut to the chase, please?  I waive my rights to call witnesses, cross-examine, et cetera."

Fyrenn snorted, and took a step back, gesturing towards the prosecutor and causing him to flinch.  He glanced briefly to the left, noting that a young Corporal had silently entered the chamber, and was conversing with Hutch and Lantry in low tones.

"Hell;  I stipulate to all the prosecution's witnesses and evidence.  If it makes you feel any better?  I will list the names of the people I killed, how I did it, where, and when, for the record.  Full and unabashed admission that I was the cause of their deaths.  You can find as you've been ordered, and I can get on with the things in my day that actually...  Well, you know... 
Matter."

Stimson opened his mouth to respond, but a scraping noise interrupted him as Hutch pushed back his chair, and stood.

"If the court will please excuse the interruption.  I've just been informed of a major attack.  All officers have been called to active duty stations, and a state of emergency has been declared for the Atlantic Northeast region."

Silence reigned for several moments, before Stimson rose, and straightened his jacket.

"These proceedings are in recess until the state of military emergency is rescinded."

The General made a final unsuccessful attempt to glower at Fyrenn, before glancing down at his gavel to avoid the Gryphon's piercing molten gold gaze.

"As soon as the emergency is over, this trial is to be resumed at a date and time to be specified by the tribunal.  All participants will be required and compelled by law to resume attendance at that time.  We are in recess."

Stimson slammed down his gavel, and backed away from the dais, gesturing to the nearest MP to step forward and make a report.  Fyrenn made his way swiftly up to the press box, where Hutch, Lantry, and Sildinar were already buried in a concerned, hushed conversation.  The red Gryphon perked his ears, and cocked his head.

"What's happened?"

Lantry glanced up, and sighed.

"The HLF has attacked, and captured, a Barrier Retarder platform, East of Nassau."

Hutch nodded, and blinked slowly as he chimed in.

"Initial reports indicate their naval assets are being supported by a large, unmarked Arsenal ship."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and a low rumble of a growl percolated in his chest.

"Minos."





The VTOL rocked slightly as it dropped from its maximum cruising speed, to a configuration more suitable for final approach.  Fyrenn's ears twitched as the whine of the engine rotation mechanisms filled the cabin.

He cast a sideways glance at General Lantry, and finally decided to indulge his curiosity as the vehicle began to descend vertically.

"Why ask me along for this?  I'm fully aware that you don't approve of my actions...  And that you don't entirely trust me anymore.  So why stick your neck out to put me on the front-line?"

Lantry smiled wryly as he rose, grasping an overhead handhold for stability as the VTOL swayed in the crosswind.

"I'm a pragmatist Lieutenant.  You have first-claw experience with this 'Minos' figure, and the Agincourt.  When you take that along with your raw effectiveness as a fighter, and your penchant for battlefield improvisation?  I'd be allowing my emotions to cloud my judgement if I *didn't* put you to good use."

The General snorted and gestured with his free hand towards Kephic and Varan.

"Besides...  If I told you to sit this one out?  They wouldn't be too keen to pitch in.  And we're short-staffed for assault troops.  I'm not too proud to admit that our best chances lie with a primarily non-Human strike team."

The VTOL came to a stop with a slight vibration, and the subtle pitch-shift that always accompanied turbine engine spin-down cycles.  The door snapped open, and Fyrenn followed Lantry down the ramp, with Hutch, Kephic, Varan, and Sildinar in tow.

At the opposite end of the tarmac, several lighter VTOLs, better suited for the tight confines of a non-carrier naval landing, sat idling.  Their side-doors were open, their strobe lights were  on, and their rotors already spinning in the ready-configuration.

Fyrenn shivered as he glanced up to the horizon, and noted that the Manhattan Bureau, and the Naval piers at the port, were the only lit structures in the visible portion of the cityscape.  He also noted that, unsurprisingly, the North Carolina, and all other large-tonnage Naval vessels, were missing from the harbor.

As the Gryphons began to make their way toward the vehicles, a familiar group of faces intercepted them.  Carradan, Neyla, and Skye all bore intensely grim expressions.  Alyra looked to be more optimistic, but Fyrenn guessed that was simply a product of ignorance about the gravitas of the situation.

Fyrenn smiled down at his daughter, and scooped her up onto his back without breaking his stride.  As the fledgling clutched his neck in a short, sweet hug, Lantry fell into step beside Skye, and nodded down at her.

"Give me a report on the information I sent you."

The red Gryphon shot the General a brief glower, before fixing his gaze on Skye expectantly.  Lantry's history with Skye was a strong source of tension between Fyrenn, and the General.  The latter had lied about her status, and allowed the former to presume her dead for the better part of a month.

In turn, Fyrenn had threatened to do Lantry severe bodily harm if he ever lied to him again.

Skye sighed, and shook her head slowly as she spoke.  As the words issued forth slowly, and grimly, Neyla passed Fyrenn a large, hefty bag containing his sword, Kephic and Varan's blades, and three standard issue RAC-9s.

"The news isn't good;  But I didn't really need your data to come to that conclusion.  I agree with your analysts.  It would make no sense for the HLF to destroy the platform.  And they would have done that already if they intended to.  And that would accelerate the Barrier.  Not exactly high on their to-do list of villainous acts, if you ask me."

Kephic raised an eyebrow, and blinked.

"So what do they want with it?  Surely they don't think they can ransom it?"

Hutch's face scrunched in thought, and he tilted his head as he added his thoughts to the mix.

"Maybe they want to strip it for parts?  Something they need for a future project?"

Skye shook her head emphatically, and grunted.

"Uh uh.  Nope.  If they wanted parts they would have come and gone already.  Given the specific platform they chose, given their specific motivations, and given the readings the General has provided from satellite reconnaissance, I think they aim to do something a whole heck of a lot more dangerous.  And stupid."

Lantry inclined his head, and sighed.

"Save the longer explanation for the briefing."

The group came to a halt as they reached the line of light VTOLs, Fyrenn spared a quick glance for the groups of heavily armored soldiers pouring into the vehicles, before turning his gaze back to the group and laying down his duffle.

As he began extracting his weapons, and passing along Kephic and Varan's, he spoke slowly, but firmly.

"I hate to make this request;  But I need two volunteers to stay here with Alyra."

Lantry nodded towards Hutch, and gestured with one hand.

"General;  I want you to man command and control here.  I'll quarterback this one from the field."

Hutch sighed, and ran one hand across the top of his head in frustration.

"I don't suppose I could convince you to trade places?  It's your prerogative, but putting an officer at your ranking into the killbox is highly irregular.  And generally frowned on."

Lantry snorted, and cast a wry sideways glance at Fyrenn.

"I suppose he's rubbing off on me.  Call it bad influence.  Report to the C&C room at the Bureau Hutch.  That's an order."

Sildinar stepped towards Alyra, and extended a protective wing over her.

"I will go as well."

The roan Gryphon shot Fyrenn a slight smile, and a curt nod as he continued.

"As much as I relish every opportunity to go into battle, I know that you will be unable to focus unless one of us remains to protect your fledgling.  I also know that the other members of your family would find it a bitter lot to remain behind."

Fyrenn dipped his head low, and allowed his expression to convey his thanks.  He knelt before Alyra, and pulled her into a swift embrace against his neck.  She returned the gesture, then tilted her head and flattened her ears.

"Is your mind made up?  Or can I convince you if I ask really really nicely?"

The red Gryphon smiled, and ruffled the crest feathers of the young Gryphoness' head with his right claw.

"There will come a day, and soon, when you will have the chance to go with me into danger, sword drawn.  I don't doubt your courage, nor your potential.  But I know how much work it took me to acclimate to new senses, and skills.  You are younger than I was at the time, and so you have a longer road ahead."

Fyrenn rose, and paused momentarily.  He gently lifted his sword from its scabbard, and passed it to Alyra.  The weapon was too long, and heavy, for the fledgling to swing accurately, but she was able to hold it upright steadily, which was an impressive feat for a Gryphon of her age.

The red Gryphon nodded towards first Alyra, then Sildinar.

"Exercise with it.  Sildinar will show you how.  Take care of it;  I never go too far without my sword, so you can bet I'll be back for it, no matter what.  Until then, think of it as a consolation prize for sitting this one out."

Alyra smiled, and nodded slowly.

"Thanks...  Dad."

She winced reflexively, initially fearful of Fyrenn's reaction to her final word.  The red Gryphon blinked to hold back the swiftly-rising sensation of tears, and bent to lay the Gryphic equivalent of a kiss on the top of Alyra's head.

He turned, and snapped open his wings, securing his RAC between them as Kephic, Varan, and Neyla took up formation with him.  Lantry vaulted into the VTOL at the end of the line, and gestured to the pilot.  Skye and Carradan scrambled aboard, and the door gunner pulled the hatch closed behind them

As the vehicles rose, accompanied by the flight of Gryphons, Lantry snapped off a quick salute through his window, in the general direction of Hutch, Sildinar, and Alyra.  Fyrenn waggled his wings slightly, co-opting the universal pilot's gesture, before wheeling around to follow the VTOLs on their south-easterly track.
> Chapter 56
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"Attack Group North, Transport lead, Requesting deck assignments and vectors to initials."

Fyrenn dipped his left wing to bring himself closer to the VTOL containing Lantry, Skye, and Carradan.  He shifted his right ear slightly to block out more wind noise as a response came back on the open channel.

"Transport Flight, Attack Group North Zone-Control, Sierra One and escorts are cleared for portside low entry to North Carolina aft deck.  Sierra Two is cleared for aft high entry to Columbia aft deck.  Sierra Three, Four, and Five are clear for low aft entry to Indianapolis aft deck."

Fyrenn watched in fascination as one VTOL peeled away to the destroyer flanking the North Carolina on its port side.  The remainder, save for the lead craft, began stacking themselves in an orderly hover-taxi line over the churning wake to the rear of the Indianapolis, which flanked the North Carolina on its starboard side.

Fyrenn pulled back, keeping formation with the other Gryphons as the VTOL pulled ahead, made a quick, sweeping yaw-turn, and brought itself to rest on the Battleship's aft recovery deck.  The Gryphons followed suit as soon as it was safe to do so, alighting as the aircraft's rotor blades began to brake, and the side doors popped open.

As a flood of technicians rushed to prepare the craft for storage, and do post-flight inspection,  Captain Orik came striding across the armored surface of the deck plating towards the group, firing off a disenchanted glare at Fyrenn and Neyla.

"I thought I'd seen the last of you.  What are you doing back on my ship?"

Lantry straightened his jacket as he disembarked, and speared Orik with a glare.  Despite the fact that the General was from a different branch, his seniority demanded a certain level of respect.  Orik snapped off a salute, and pulled himself into an attention stance.

The General nodded towards Fyrenn, Neyla, and the remainder of the Gryphons.

"They're here on my request and by my leave.  Get your senior staff together for a briefing in fifteen minutes, and prepare to submerge the Attack Group for the remainder of the approach."

Orik nodded, and snapped off another salute, before turning on one heel and making his way swiftly back to the central island structure.  Carradan made his way to the red Gryphon's side, and cocked his head.

"What's *his* problem?"

Fyrenn snorted, and shook his head.

"I have the vague sense that he doesn't like me.  I strongly suspect he is working off memories of his time as my CO... Though it might also have something to do with the fact that I cut his executive officer into five separate pieces.  Who can say."

As the red Gryphon ambled away towards the nearest access hatch, Skye whistled, and shook her head slowly.

"He scares me when he gets sarcastic."





In spite of its comparatively large scope, the briefing room felt slightly cramped to Fyrenn.  The fact that the space had only been designed to accommodate the ship's senior staff contributed to the problem, given that they were all assembled, along with all four Gryphons, the Captains of Columbia and Indianapolis, and General Lantry.

The latter man stood at the head of the room, arms folded behind his back as he waited for the other occupants to settle into place.  As soon as he was sure he had everyone's undivided attention, the General nodded to Skye, who was seated next to a terminal by the door.

The Unicorn tapped away at an interface panel, and Lantry began to speak as a map, a schematic, and four waveform readings filled the wall's main holoscreen.

"Early this morning an unmarked ship clocked at Battlecruiser tonnage, accompanied by a heavy guided missile Submarine, attacked and seized control of a Barrier Retarder platform.  Minutes later, the platform's onboard reporting systems went dark, and the entire area fell under an ECM blanket."

Lantry gestured with one finger to the four waveforms.

"Though we're prevented from gathering LADAR information, and there is a visible light scrambling net over the platform-proper, SatVision constellation nine was able to record these electromagnetic profiles as it passed overhead."

The General nodded at Skye as he continued.

"Several of my specialists, along with a subject matter expert, were able to identify two of the profiles as part of the ECM field.  The third is the field the platform itself produces.  The fourth is our cause for concern."

Lantry crossed over to the other side of the screen, and gestured for Skye to push focus onto the information in question.  His tone acquired a hint of well-concealed nervousness as he spoke.

"According to independent verification by several of our best theorists, this waveform is indicative of a new quantum-active element being introduced to the platform's local environment.  Now I'm not much of a math nerd..."

A nervous chuckle made its way around the room, dying out swiftly under the gravitas of Lantry's gaze.  The General tapped at the screen' surface with a stylus.

"...But my specialists are.  In layman's terms, they all agree that this waveform is being generated by a device, or series of devices, designed to interact with, and hijack, the effects of the Retarder mechanism itself."

The Columbia's Captain squinted up at the screen, and shook his head slowly.

"What does that mean, precisely, in terms of risk profiles?  What is the HLF playing for here?"

Skye's voice piped up from the rear of the room, abruptly drawing all eyes to her.

"Risk profiles?"

The Unicorn chuckled harshly, and shook her head emphatically.  She gestured with one hoof towards the screen, narrowing her eyes.

"Are you *kidding* me?  The last time one of your quantum field devices malfunctioned, it destroyed this planet's atmosphere, eventually leading to extinction for the vast majority of all life on the surface!  The Barrier Retarders?!  Compared to that, they are like...  Blast furnaces, as compared to a box of matches!"

The room went silent.  Fyrenn felt a chill run down his spine.  Skye blinked, and continued to gesture emphatically.

"These platforms cause visible slowing to something with the inertial properties of a *universe!*  They actually slow down the freight train of forces that constitutes the Barrier!  You're talking about the forces at play on the horizon of a naked singularity!  What does the HLF want with that?  They want to blow up the freight train."

Skye sat back, and snorted.

"And you know what?  It probably won't work either.  They think they can make the problem go away by turning the Retarders into annihilators.  Little pocket black-holes. Make them chew up Equestria's space-time as it arrives on our plane, and pump it back into the aether as harmless directionless energy, by changing the rules mediating the reaction you refer to as the 'Bubble.'  Prevent any more of the planet from being destroyed."

The Unicorn glanced to the side, and chuckled darkly.

"But any *real* scientist will tell you right off;  It just isn't that simple.  They're playing with forces on a cosmic scale.  We're talking colossal god-like power here...  The stuff galactic clusters are born from.  Not even the Royal Sisters can be precise enough to handle something at that scope.  Your best computers are millennia away from being able to do the necessary math at the necessary speed."

Orik tilted his head, squinted, and exhaled slowly.

"Please cut to the point.  What happens if they lose control of the system?  And how soon are we facing that eventuality?"

Skye snorted, and tossed her mane, tilting her head and raising an eyebrow.

"What part of 'humongous colossal god-like power' did you fail to grasp?  How soon would they lose control?  The picosecond they turn their devices on.  When will that happen?  Any moment now.  This second, five hours from now... Depends on the configuration of their setup."

The Unicorn leaned forward, and leveled a hoof at the assembled officers.

"What happens then?"

The tip of Skye's horn exploded without warning, giving birth to an ear-shattering bang, and a brilliant flash of light.  The Humans, and Carradan, jumped several feet into the air, blinking rapidly to clear the spots from their eyes.

Skye sat back, and exhaled slowly.

"That's what happens.  On a two hundred lightyear scale.  Everything any of us have ever known, in both worlds, will go up faster than a firecracker in a frying pan.  If they turn their device or devices on?  Their little pocket singularities will be quantum strangelets before they can even say 'oh frak.'  And then everything else across a huge portion of both universes will be quantum strangelets.  And all that's left will be God, and the aliens, laughing their collective asses off at the stupid kids who finally blew off their heads with a nebula-sized dry ice bomb."

The Unicorn raised an eyebrow, and pointed to the screen.

"*That* is your risk profile.  That is what happens when you leave a device that can mediate the reactions between *colliding worlds* in a relatively undefended state.  Maybe you don't see it as dangerous, because the guys in lab coats said there was no inherent risk.  But did you ever stop to think about what happens when someone starts pushing buttons in ways they weren't *designed* to be pushed?"

Lantry folded his arms, and allowed the stunned, fearful silence to drag on for nearly thirty seconds.  Finally, the General rapped one fisted hand on the table to bring attention back to the front of the room.

"Obviously time is of the essence.  We initially intended to target the platform with remote strikes, but the ECM blanket knocks that option out.  Without proper targeting telemetry we are trying to hit an acre-sized object inside a two thousand acre area.  I've been told that destroying the platform is, relatively speaking, the safest choice at this time, because it's expedient.  So we're here to make that happen, up close and personal."

Lantry nodded at the screen once more, and several schematics popped up, accompanied by a map.

"Missiles will only work with solid point-to-point, or heat-seeking lock inside the ECM field.  Railguns will need line-of-sight through targeting equipment, or beam-riders.  As such, the plan is to insert strike teams by VTOL, while the battle group engages the enemy vessels.  We will secure the platform and tag it with spot-beam guide-lock beacons, then withdraw and destroy the entire assembly from a safe distance."

The General nodded to Captain Orik, and moved aside as the officer stood, and took his place by the screen.  The Captain picked up where Lantry had left off, gesturing to the map as a series of indicator icons moved back and forth.

"In the interest of time, the plan is simple.  Our vessels outnumber the enemy, so we will surround and annihilate them.  The North Carolina will enter the combat zone first to draw out the Agincourt.  As soon as the arsenal ship is committed, the Columbia will rise from behind and we will crush the enemy between us.  Indianapolis will surface nearer the platform, and deploy strike teams, while engaging the submarine.  Columbia will move to assist as soon as possible.  When all mission objectives are complete, the task force will withdraw for coordinated bombardment."

Orik glanced around the room to ensure there were no major questions.  He nodded curtly, and gestured to his third officer.

"My interim XO will be passing out the detailed action plan, and coordinating full staff briefings for Columbia and Indianapolis.  We arrive in thirty minutes, so make sure your ships are fully rigged and ready in no more than twenty five.  We will be going dark, and submerging, as soon as you return to your vessels."

The majority of the Human officers rose, and began to break into smaller groups, making their way out of the room gradually while speaking in hushed urgent tones.  Orik made his way over to Lantry, and the Gryphons.

He pointed at Fyrenn, and fixed Lantry with a stare.

"You have the prerogative to bring them here.  But you have no authority to re-organize my strike teams."

Lantry glared, and leaned forward.

"I am the senior officer in charge here."

Orik raised an eyebrow, and shrugged.

"And I am the senior *naval* officer in charge.  As such, the crews of all three ships are under my jurisdiction, and that includes the strike marine forces.  I've seen how your Gryphon friends here behave in the field, and I won't have them on the main strike force.  That's final."

Fyrenn leaned in close, bringing his beak perilously close to the Captain's neck.  His tone was so low, it practically shook the deck plating.

"Unwise."

Orik glared, and inhaled sharply.

"What?  You gonna slice me up, the same way you did my first officer?  I have no place for murderers in my command.  You want to take exception to that?  I don't give a damn.  You feel free to light off as soon as we surface, and go tear into the enemy however you please.  My men won't interfere.  Though they certainly won't take any pains to avoid friendly fire."

The red Gryphon chuckled grimly, and sat back, his eyes cold and sharp with anger.

"You're lucky I don't think of you as much of a threat.  Your relative unimportance is the main thing keeping you safe."

Orik's stoic visage finally caved into an angry sneer.  For the first time, to Fyrenn's knowledge, the man allowed himself to rise to the bait.  The Captain reached out to deliver a backhand to the red Gryphon's beak.

Fyrenn caught his wrist effortlessly in mid air, and twisted down casually, without even coming out of his seated position.  The movement snapped Orik's right arm in half just below the elbow, cleanly severing bone and muscle alike.

The Captain staggered back, gritting his teeth and biting his tongue to suppress a screech.

"SON OF A---"

Neyla shrugged, and sighed, her tone and expression all-but conversational.

"You should be more careful.  He's not in a good mood today, and I doubt he's feeling any better given that the world may come to an end at any moment.  Small prey should not provoke large predators."

Lantry exhaled sharply, and narrowed his eyes.

"Enough, please.  We're short on time and resources;  The last thing we can afford is infighting.  I'm asking, politely, that we tone it down a notch."

The General pulled Orik into a shoulder-carry, and made his way towards the hatchway.  As he worked the handle, he muttered into the Captain's ear.

"She's right though.  If you keep poking the lion, you'll get your head bitten off.  Don't push them."





"So...  End of the world huh?"

Carradan slid onto the steel bench, forcing out the words around the plate clutched in his muzzle.  He set the dish down on the table, licked his lips to remove the taste of plastic, then glanced across at Skye as he stuffed a kelp-roll into his mouth.

The Unicorn nodded slowly, her eyes conveying a deep sense of sincerity.

"This isn't entirely my field, but that's my assessment.  And when have you ever known me to be wrong?"

The two Ponies shared a brief, gallows-humor chuckle, before Skye hung her head, and sighed.

"Besides...  Seven specialists who do study this field confirmed the findings, each independently of the other.  The physics are sound, but the math just doesn't work out.  I imagine you'd have to invent an entirely new discipline of Quantum Geometry just to begin to lay the groundwork for something like this."

Carradan winced, and tilted his head as he started on another kelp-roll.  The Pegasus grimaced as he spoke around the food, trying not to think about the foul taste.

"Any chance the planet *won't* go splat?  Any chance the big Earth shattering kaboom might be just a bit less...  Earth shattering?"

Skye took a long sip from a glass of water, and nodded slowly.

"Sure.  What I described is the worst case, but it is the most likely case.  But only by about seventy percent.  In the other thirty percent are some pretty big explosions, but not enough to destroy the entirety of both worlds.  There's also a chance that one world will be destroyed, and the other will get off scott free."

A new voice joined the conversation as Varan appeared at the end of the table.  His approach had been so silent, that Carradan was visibly startled.

"I, for one, would rather not take chances with such odds."

Carradan dipped his head, and snorted.

"No argument there.  I'd like to be able to sleep tonight, thank you very much."

Kephic mimicked the snort as he arrived at the opposite end of the table, collapsing to his haunches and shaking his head slowly.

"And Humanity wonders why we get tetchy with them from time to time?  This makes the second time this *month* that one of their devices has presented great danger to both worlds.  Both times at the hands of the HLF."

Skye tossed her mane, and held up a hoof.

"Don't make the mistake of blaming the technology.  Your swords and your bows are technology, but you don't advocate throwing them away when your enemies bring the same weapons into battle against you."

Kephic shook his head, and perked one ear.

"No, of course not...  My point was more along the skein that the HLF have stepped across a line in the sand.  This goes beyond the affairs of Humans, or the joint affairs of our species."

Carradan swallowed the last of his kelp with an enormous gulp, licked his lips, then tilted his head.

"How do ya mean?"

Varan nodded across the table, and his ears pulled back slightly.

"He means that given the way recent HLF actions have endangered Equestria itself, it may be time for direct intervention on our part, without the supervision, permission, or regulation of Humanity."

Silence fell for several moments.  Carradan glanced awkwardly away to the deep blue vista of the nearest porthole.  Skye's mouth fell open.  At last, the Unicorn mustered her words, her ears flattening reflexively as she spoke.

"You can't be serious.  What you're talking about could be construed as an invasion!"

Kephic raised a claw, and inclined his head.

"True...  But it doesn't *have* to be.  Varan is right;  We'd be within moral bounds to act without permission to defend ourselves, but that doesn't mean we won't ask first, once, for the sake of diplomatic nicety."

Varan nodded, and ruffled his wings.

"If the Humans are wise?  They will allow us to remove the threat for them.  They may say whatever they wish to save political face."

Carradan wobbled his head laterally, then began nodding slowly.  He raised an eyebrow, and shrugged across at Skye.

"You gotta admit...  You'd sleep better at night knowin' these guys had put the HLF firmly in the ground."

Skye sighed, and closed her eyes for a long moment.

"Well...  Yes.  That's true.  But at what cost?  How will Humanity sleep knowing that its own government had to bow to an outside force?"

Silence again descended.  No one had a good answer to the Unicorn's open question.





Fyrenn rolled his eyes as the metal bar deformed once more, allowing it to fall out of its mounting fixtures with a resounding 'CLANG!'

A familiar voice from behind startled him, as he bent to retrieve and straighten the steel beam for the fifth time.

"Why not strike at something that strikes back?"

The red Gryphon turned to see Neyla, standing in the doorway to the gym.  He shook his head slowly, and discarded his punching-rod on a nearby bench.

"How is it that you do that?  I've *never* been able to sneak up on Kephic, or Varan, or even you for that matter."

Neyla shrugged her wings, and grinned ever-so-slightly as she stepped into the compartment.  The Gryphoness withdrew both of her short, curved swords from her under-wing sheaths as she answered.

"Sentinels must be the undisputed masters of the stealthy hunt.  We often fight alone.  No one to catch us if we fall.  The element of surprise is our only ally."

Neyla tossed one of the weapons into a shallow arc.  Fyrenn plucked it from its trajectory, and spent a moment carefully examining the hilt.  He depressed part of the filigree with his thumb talon, and a shorter blade, with an opposing curve, flashed into existence at the bottom of the weapon.

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and shook his head slowly.

"I usually practice with Varan, or Sildinar.  And I'm not especially good with short blades."

Neyla deployed the secondary blade on her weapon, and began to circle slowly on her hind legs, grinning wryly.

"Well it is time you branched out.  You're allowing your emotions to get the best of you.  That's understandable.  You are still learning the depths of feeling our kind can delve to.  And you have had no true rest for weeks."

The Gryphoness slowly, gracefully swapped the sword between her left and right claws in an almost lazy arc.  She repeated the gesture several times as Fyrenn spoke.

"Is this about Orik's arm?  Because he had it coming, believe me."

Neyla inclined her head, and twirled the weapon around her right claw effortlessly.  Fyrenn began experimenting with the balance of the blade she had given him, taking up a slow circular dance of preparatory movement as well.  The Gryphoness exhaled slowly, and flicked one ear.

"Not precisely.  But I've noticed the stress you've been under.  Each of us have been dealing with similar difficulties, save that most of the others are not dealing with new parental responsibilities.  And none of us, aside from you, are struggling with losing our former homeworld."

Fyrenn sighed, and experimentally slashed the air with the blade in his claw.

"In more ways than one.  I'm not afraid of losing my Human spirit, mind you.  I've even come, mostly, to terms with the loss of the places I know so well.  I'm just...  Sad to see everything falling apart this way.  Societally, I mean.  People are afraid, and in their fear they've put their trust into things that do not, and can not, last.  Innocents are dying, and more each day, because people refuse to change when the time comes.  There is no faith.  Let alone any faith in things worthy of it."

The red Gryphon narrowed his eyes, and made a stabbing thrust, grunting in frustration as he did so.

"In their faithlessness, people attack and despise the agents of change who are here to protect them.  People like you and me.  Human society, as-is, has no place for us.  Even Equestrian society at large struggles to accept our ideals.  Celestia wanted me to be something I couldn't.  Gilchrist wanted me to be something I despise.  Lantry just wants me to go away."

Neyla made an unexpectedly harsh pass at Fyrenn's chest with the tip of her blade, causing him to bring his weapon up sharply to knock her assault aside.  The parry devolved swiftly into a counterattack, and the two Gryphons quickly moved into a series of impossibly fast maneuvers.

After upwards of half a minute, Neyla pulled away, and inclined her head slightly, before beginning another slow circling maneuver.

"You have improved in the last three years.  Appreciably.  Perhaps more than you give yourself credit for."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and twirled the short blade in his right claw experimentally.

"Why do I feel like we're talking about more than just my swordplay and paw-work?"

Neyla snorted, and flared both wings slightly.

"Because you *need* to talk about more than war, weapons, and tactics.  You can't simply hold in all your struggles, they need a voice, and they need ears to hear them."

The red Gryphon narrowed his eyes, and made a faux lunge, before pulling back and dodging to the left.

"I *do!*  With Varan, and Kephic, and sometimes even Stan of all people!"

The Gryphoness pivoted gracefully over Fyrenn's head on a cushion of air from both wings, making a pass at his back as she did so.  By the time she landed, Fyrenn had ducked, twisted, and rose to meet her next assault.

The two Gryphons stood beak to beak, weapons locked in a static contest of wills and wits.  Neyla grinned slightly, lowering her voice due to the proximity.

"Not about everything.  And you don't find release for your emotions.  A 'vent' in Human terms.  You find wisdom, true.  Our little family group is full of wise counsel and open hearts.  But you so rarely express the complete depths of yourself.  Both your inner soul, and the changing emotions it carries."

Fyrenn pivoted the short blade up and around, twirling it first one way, then the other to try and divert Neyla's attention.  The Gryphoness spied his ploy at the last moment, and gave his head a solid thwack with both of her wings, before touching the tip of her blade lightly to his chest.

"I know there is more to you than the weapons and arts of war.  That is a deep part of ourselves we share in common, but there is more to you than that."

The red Gryphon grunted in frustration, and spun around his own central axis, knocking Neyla's weapon away effortlessly with a fisted claw.  He dropped the sword she had lent him, and began grappling directly with the Gryphoness' outstretched claws and wings.

"So?!  I keep some of my feelings to myself for *good* reason!"

Neyla pressed her attack, twisting Fyrenn's entire body to the floor with surprising strength, using her wings as a barricade to keep him from rising easily.

"Oh?  Share with me your good reason, if you please."

Fyrenn growled, and tensed his own wings, forcing the pair upwards on the strength of his shoulders alone.  The combat devolved swiftly into something of a mock boxing match, as the pair lashed out mercilessly with fisted claws and the joints of their wings.

"You know that already!  You know more about me than almost anyone now living!!  Why make such an issue of this?!"

The red Gryphon continued unabated, practically shouting as he finally let his frustrations, fears, deferred hopes, and suppressed anxiety get the better of him entirely.

"I am just as bad at this whole faith thing as everyone else!  I put my faith in all the wrong people...  In pointless Human institutions, and now that I know where it truly belongs, I still can't sleep some nights for worrying if everything really is going to work out according to the plan, and more than anything I'm afraid of screwing it up, myself, because in fearing reliance on others, I pin too many hopes and responsibilities on myself!  And I know I'm not perfect, so I know I'm going to KEEP SCREWING UP!  ARE YOU HAPPY NOW?!"

Fyrenn lashed out as hard as he could with his right wing, forgetting the fact that he was still recovering from a serious injury.  Neyla's defensive block sent a wave of latent pain and muscle spasms through his body, and he pitched forward on blind momentum, crashing to the floor hard enough to make a resounding 'CRACK!'

The red Gryphon lay prostrate, breathing heavily as he re-collected his faculties at a leisurely pace.  Neyla knelt beside him, and tilted her head to lock eyes with him.

"Before I met you that day?  In the library?  I behaved *exactly* the same way.  Then you convinced me to follow your family onto that glacier.  Whether you know it or not, and whether you meant to or not..."

Neyla extended a claw.  Fyrenn inhaled slowly, then took it firmly, and allowed the Gryphoness to help him back to his paws.  She smiled sadly, and placed a comforting claw on his shoulder.

"Having someone to pick you up is the most valuable mortal thing you can attain.  Put enough of those people together?  And you have a family."

The Gryphoness plucked a primary from her wing with the sharp edge of her beak.  She transferred the object to her right claw, and used her left to probe gently at Fyrenn's bruises as she continued.

"You understand the importance of faith as much as any of us.  That's clear.  What you don't seem to grasp, is that you're not anything less than we are.  We are, all of us, regardless of species, imperfect.  No one attains God's perfection in this life.  We all struggle.  Where we truly fail, is if we allow those imperfections to rule us, particularly if we let them hold us back from striving for things that matter."

Neyla reached out and gently, but firmly, took the side of Fyrenn's head in her left claw, holding it still.  She carefully worked the light bluish primary into Fyrenn's crest, near his right ear, using the shaft of the feather to form a long-lasting weave that would hold it in place indefinitely.

As the Gryphoness pulled away, smiling, Fyrenn tilted his head in confusion.  Neyla chuckled, and blushed ever-so-slightly as she explained.

"It is a custom among female Gryphons to mark a male this way when we have developed strong feelings for him.  It lets all others know that unless we release him, he will be either ours, or no one's."

Fyrenn winced, and blushed himself, rolling his eyes high into their sockets to try and catch a glimpse of the feather.

"And if one of the males marked wishes to pursue a different relationship?  Or if he wishes to pursue none at all?"

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and shot the red Gryphon a good-natured glower.

"As to the first;  A female never *ever* marks a male unless he is free of other romantic ties, and has expressed at least some measure of reciprocation.  As to the second..."

She sighed, and her ears drooped as her tone dipped into a more somber key.

"Well...  If you don't work to keep it there, it will fall out eventually."

Fyrenn smiled slightly, trying to impart some measure of reassurance.  He stepped closer to Neyla, and brought his head down and around to meet her floor-bound gaze.  The Gryphon stuck out his tongue, and chuckled.

"Some people just give an engagement ring."

Neyla smirked, and shook her head.

"This is different.  It is both a promise, and a request.  The promise is that the one giving the feather will not pursue anyone else, nor break off her pursuit of the potential mate, until such time as he blatantly ends all chance of a relationship.  The request is for further reciprocation.  In the present, or in the near future."

Fyrenn sighed, then nodded slowly.

"You're not wrong.  I've said it before, but I'll make it plain again;  I certainly reciprocate on some level.  A part of me wants to give in and do so fully.  But I am still so afraid..."

He glanced up, and Neyla winced as she saw the pain in his eyes.

"I've done some very extreme things in defense of my daughter.  Looking back on that?  I fear that means there is danger in allowing myself to love.  When I compare what I've done to what Gilchrist did---OOF"

Fyrenn rubbed his chest where Neyla's fist had connected, and glared.  The Gryphoness' expression was laden with powerful anger, which brought Fyrenn up short.  Her tone was equally forceful.

"You will *stop* comparing yourself to him, or I will *make* you stop!  Even in death, you allow him, and you allow his foul demoness partner, to control you, when you do this to yourself!"

The red Gryphon exhaled slowly and raggedly, then nodded once more.

"Fine.  You, as usual, are right.  Just please...  Stop bruising me on the eve of battle!"

Neyla stuck out the edge of her tongue slightly, and grinned.  Fyrenn sighed, and dipped his head in acquiescence.

"I'll put it this way;  Were it so simple, I would ask you to be my mate right here, right now.  And I freely admit that I wish it were that simple.  More than anything.  But it isn't.  Not after all I've been through, and said, and done, and seen."

Fyrenn held up a claw, and again lifted his head to lock eyes with Neyla.

"That having been said;  As we agreed before, I am not ruling out the near future.  I'm not.  I promise you, on my honor.  So I'll accept your mark, if you'll accept this promise..."

The red Gryphon inhaled slowly, then spoke evenly and cautiously, carefully picking his words one by one.

"I promise that I will explore this with you.  Slowly.  Carefully.  At my pace.  And I promise that should I find no reason to hold back, that I won't...  And if I do?  I will not put an end to it without first helping you understand why."

Neyla's eyes narrowed, and she held up a single index talon.

"One condition."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and Neyla's frown morphed into a mischievous grin.

"You find time to spar with me at least thrice a week."

The red Gryphon groaned, and nodded.

"Fine.  Starting the week after next.  Because I really do need to find some time for my poor ribs to recover."

Neyla chuckled, and made a faux pass at Fyrenn's side with a fisted talon.  He glowered, and shook his head.

"IJ and Stan are a terribly bad influence."
> Chapter 57
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"We've entered the inner portion of the ECM blanket.  Time to target is twenty seven seconds."

Fyrenn cast a glance first at Lantry, then at the telemetry officer who had spoken.  The CIC was surprisingly calm, but the room's occupants knew that would change in a matter of moments.  The four Gryphons, both Ponies, and Lantry had opted to ride out the battle in the Combat Information Center rather than the bridge, for two reasons.

Firstly, Orik's right arm was still in a nano-cast, and everyone had thought it wise to keep him and Fyrenn separated.  Secondarily, the room was more of a strategic command center, affording a better glimpse of the overall battlefield, and the resources to make split-second decisions and commands if necessary.

The space was deeply familiar to Fyrenn, mostly as a result of his cross-training in surface warfare technology and tactics.  Dark, low-slung, and long, the room was filled to bursting with screens suspended from flexible armatures.

Each of the officers' chairs was a veritable cornucopia of smaller adjustable panels, physical toggle switches, and a multi function display touchscreen, in addition to the bevy of controls on their actual workstations.

Fyrenn reached over the side of the central holotank, and pulled a spare headset from a magnetically attached container.  He placed the device into and over his right ear, running the microphone down towards the right side of his beak.

He listened as Orik's voice came over first the PA, then the main operations channel.

"Combat alert.  All hands to action stations.  Helm, flush ballast tanks and prepare for breaching.  Weapons;  Pre-spin all VLS racks, and load all gun platforms.  Place high-explosive ship-killing warheads into the torpedo reload pool and standby for a kill-track."

Fyrenn traded glances with each member of the group in turn, as a flurry of activity and orders overtook the room.  He nodded towards the nearest empty chairs and hand-holds.

"Brace yourselves.  And cover your ears."

Making good on his own advice, the red Gryphon firmly took hold of the railing surrounding the central holotank, casting a reassuring glance at the Tactical Actions Officer, before fixing his gaze on the telemetry readouts.

"TAO, Weapons, Spin twenty Mahesh KKMD warheads and prepare a reload pool.  Prepare two anti-ship torpedoes with high-ex config in the fore tubes.  Load all guns and prepare for rapid-cycle refire."

The officer inclined his head, and to Fyrenn's surprise, spoke directly to him.

"Do me the favor of comparing notes.  I hear you cross-trained in my field...  And you were bridge-side during the first engagement."

Fyrenn inhaled slowly, then gestured with one claw to illustrate, as he spoke.

"The Agincourt is slung low in the water.  The Island structure looks like it was based off a shortened version of a heavy destroyer, and the hull is extremely low-profile in surface combat mode.  They used that to their advantage to put heavy seas between our guns, and their hull."

The red Gryphon paused to collect his thoughts, then continued swiftly and concisely.

"From what I could see out the window, in terms of how many of our missiles hit, out of the bunch, they have at least as much AI processing power to devote to countermeasures as we do...  If not more.  Factor that into your strategy.  Be prepared for a massive return-fire salvo.  Their warheads are low intensity, but tend to impact in deadly concurrent clusters."

The TAO nodded, and began gesturing to his personnel, each in turn, as he barked out more specific commands.  A series of klaxons began to sound, and the deck pitched gently as the ship began to rise.

"Main guns, load and prepare to receive targeting data.  Lock stabilizer gyros and co-ordinate firing cycle with athwartships thruster controls.  Configure for a high-arc attack.  Missile-Ops;  Load twenty Kilo-Type Mahesh into the VLS tubes with high dispersal config, and enter twenty ditto into reload pool.  Assign central AI cluster to tracking operations and target assignment."

The man turned to face an officer at the rear of the compartment as he continued.

"Zone control;  Place Helios guns and sea-whizz in anti-missile mode, coordinate with fire control ops to apportion AI targeting processor cycles for anti-air coverage."

The ship began to vibrate in a low, steady frequency range as it approached the surface.

"Breaching in three...  Two...  One...  Surfacing complete!"

The North Carolina shook and lurched as the hull forced its way past the surface of the ocean, prow slicing through the waves like an immense knife.

"EMCON Condition broken, active LADAR and targeting modules online!  Standby for kill-tracks!"

Varan grit his beak, and glowered down at the holotank as it gradually filled with sparse telemetric data.

"This may not go precisely as planned..."

"TAO, Bridge;  Kill track four eight nine!  All batteries, all launch tubes!"





The majority of the North Carolina's first gun salvo missed.  The ship was still rocking violently as a result of its surfacing action.  The water beneath the craft churned like a whirlpool, agitated from its normal blue-green hue to a white angry froth.

The first volley of missiles, however, went out flawlessly.  Though most were swiftly cut down by defensive fire from the Agincourt, a few scored glancing hits on the Arsenal Ship's outer armor layers.

The enemy vessel lay at the extreme range of the North Carolina's viable telemetry bubble, which was reduced to a mere two kilometers inside the ECM blanket.  The Battleship rolled slightly, but rapidly stabilized as the navigation AI made careful adjustments to the athwartships thruster banks.

Almost immediately the main gun batteries began to fire in swift staggered volley cycles.  The muzzle flash was so bright, that it lit up the lower side of the low hanging cloud cover.  The effect was visible for miles in every direction.

The sound reverberated endlessly to the horizon;  Each echoing roar was superseded by the sound of a new round leaving a muzzle before it had even begun to die away.

In spite of its best efforts to evade, the Agincourt took several major hits to the upper rear quarter of the hull.  The Arsenal ship responded by unleashing a hailstorm of missiles.  The better part of two hundred warheads spewed forth from both fore and aft decks, streaking out across the sea on low-angle trajectories, making them harder to track and destroy.

The tangle of smoke trails was reminiscent of a silken spider's web.

The Battleship threw out a nearly-solid barrier of smaller tungsten rounds.  The air turned hot and sour with streams of white-hot tracer material.  Warheads went up all around the ship's inner defensive perimeter, adding clouds of dark thick smoke, and brief fireballs, to the incomprehensible fray.

Though nearly a quarter of the warheads found their way to the North Carolina's outer hull, the Battleship's aggressive angle relative to the incoming trajectories increased the relative thickness of its armor belts.

Helios and sea-whizz fire intensified, turning the sky above the vessel orange with a veritable solid wall of molten tungsten.  The air itself seemed to be alive with smoke, deafening sound compression waves, and omnipresent vapor trails.

The battle only intensified as the Columbia rose from the depths, disgorging its own withering screen of missiles and railgun fire, before the spray had even subsided from her passage.  The destroyer had arrived slightly out of position, flanking the Agincourt rather than appearing directly to its stern.

The Arsenal ship was immediately forced to split both its effective fire, and its defensive gun cordon.  The Agincourt spun in place and pulled slightly beneath the surface to offer its hull an added layer of protection.

As the Columbia, and the North Carolina closed at full speed, the Agincourt turned tail and bolted at full thrust, tossing missiles backwards over its island structure almost as an afterthought.





"Reaching surface in five...  Four...  Three...  Two...  One!  Standby for clear launch path!"

The Indianapolis' inner vehicle bay filled with an almost unbearable whine.  The deafening sound of turboprops spinning up was magnified a thousand fold by the confined metallic space.  The lead VTOL's pilot kept one hand firmly on the throttle quadrant, and the other welded to his flight stick.

The vehicle's occupants rocked in their harnesses as the destroyer shot up at a forty-five degree angle, and began to buck and roll as it pierced the surface.  The forward bay doors began to open almost immediately, allowing a brief deluge of seawater to drench the LSO, the VTOLs' canopies, and most of the decking.

The LSO fought to maintain a standing position.  Though his safety harness kept him literally bolted to the compartment wall, it did very little to help him maintain balance overall.  The man's voice came over the flight crew's headsets.

"Standby for clear launch path! Begin your throttle-up!"

The pilot nodded, and slowly eased the throttle lever towards its stops, gently allowing the automated prop-rotation control to move a series of secondary levers.  The Co-pilot squinted at the instruments, then intervened manually for a brief moment, altering the pitch control the tiniest bit with a paper-light touch.

"Clear-forward on my mark...  Three...  Two...  One...  MARK!"

With an echoing series of muffled 'CLANK's the VTOLs' skids were released from their magnetic deck clamps.  The craft shot forward in a line formation, with barely four feet of clearance between each vehicle, and less than half of that between their rotor tips and the bay doors.

Within two seconds, the harrowing ordeal of a 'hot launch,' was over.  The Pilot began to aggressively scan the skies for unfriendly contacts as he dipped and pulled left to afford the other two craft room to maneuver.

To his surprise, however, nothing untoward crossed his visual sight picture, nor his LADAR screen.

"Viper two, Viper one, Come left zero-two-three and provide flanking cover with doorguns."

"Roger.  Viper two coming left."





"Surfacing complete!  No sign of primary combat target!"

The LADAR officer squinted into his scope, his brow furrowing as he searched for signs of the Retribution, to no avail.  The man turned to glance at the CO, and tapped his screen.

"I am picking up the platform though.  We're a bit out of position;  It looks like they may have moved it slightly.  Assault target is one point two klicks north north-east of our position, bearing zero-four-three true, zero-zero-eight relative.  Still hugging up against the barrier."

The Indianapolis' Captain turned to his XO and nodded curtly.

"Dispatch strike VTOLs.  Assign all guns to aerial defense cover.  Status of the battlegroup?"

The comms officer shook his head slowly.

"No communications.  As expected.  The Barrier is making the ECM effect worse in our vicinity, useful telemetry range has been reduced to sight-lines only."

The LADAR officer peered at his scope for several seconds, manipulating the controls on his panel deftly, before inclining his head.

"I can't say much from these readings, except that there is definitely heavy combat in progress to our west, five kliks out.  The impact flares are powerful enough to cut through the jamming.  They do seem to be headed this way though."

The XO stepped to the port side bridge wing, and leaned into the lookout's scope.  He held his position for several moments, only glancing up briefly as the sound of rotors filled the air.  The man made his way back inside as three light VTOLs dipped low over the sea, pulling away to the north at full speed.

"The North Carolina is definitely engaged.  The horizon looks like a fireworks show all the way from our relative port to our relative fore bearings."

The Captain's eyes narrowed, and he nodded slowly, examining the room's central holotank, before gesturing with his right hand.

"Deploy mines and depth charges.  Standard golf-pattern spread.  Assign the last VTOL to anti-submarine operations, and load torpedo mounts with sound-seeking fast attack warheads.  That thing is out there somewhere, and I don't intend to be caught with our pants down."





"Adjust main batteries zero-point-two degrees port!  Cut off their escape vectors and keep forcing them to the south-east!"

Fyrenn squinted down at the holotank, and tilted his head to the side as a flurry of commands made their way around the room.

"Adjust effective-fire zero-point-two degrees port!  Aye!"

"Re-tasking VLS tubes one thru five to impact enemy on relative-port quarter!"

The red Gryphon glanced up at Lantry, then left to Neyla, and Skye.  Varan and Kephic pulled in closer, and their change in expression told Fyrenn everything he needed to know.  Lantry voiced the general line of thought, on behalf of the group.

"This doesn't look right."

Carradan raised an eyebrow and his ears twitched nervously.

"Hehe...  Uh...  Care to enlighten us less-tactical plebes?"

Fyrenn gestured in a circular motion with one claw, encompassing the entire holographic display.

"Why turn and run so quickly?  We outmatch them numerically, but they have several distinct advantages.  I would have expected them to try for something more complex, or clever, in terms of maneuvering.  And where is the submarine?  If there are no telemetric or visual signs of engagement at the platform...  Then why isn't it here?  Firing on us?"

Stan blanched, and gulped.

"Oh man...  Dad always said the smooth route was the one with the best places for ambush..."

Lantry sighed, and shook his head, tensing as the ship rocked from another series of largely ineffective impacts.

"I can only see one reason for this kind of behavior.  They want to force us to follow them."

The General tapped the side of his headset, and cupped one hand to his earpiece.

"Bridge, CIC!  Break off pursuit!"

After a pause, Orik's voice came over the main operations channel.

"What the hell are you---"

A cacophony of sound and motion overtook the chamber.  The deck heaved and pitched wildly, and the air filled with the groan of stressed steel.  Neyla reached out with one wing, and caught Skye as the Unicorn flew back towards a support strut.

As the ship began to settle, the TAO pulled himself into a standing position, and shouted.

"REPORT!"

"We've struck a mine!"

"Outer hull is breached on deck four, bulkhead bravo!"

"Torpedos inbound!  Port and starboard!"

"Agincourt has focused their main missile batteries on Columbia!"

"The Columbia has been hit, and the island structure is on fire!!"





"Viper one, Viper three, What do you make of the objects on the platform, to your starboard, at about zero-one-five true?"

The VTOL's Pilot gazed through the right side of the cockpit canopy, squinting down at the distant silhouette of the retarder platform.  The object looked more or less like a deep sea hydrothermal drilling rig, and was designed off the same base chassis.

A disc-shaped wide central platform with a central toroidal cut-out dominated the shape of the construct.  Above that rested a smaller cylindrical tower housing cooling stacks and a control room.  Below lay a series of girders which ended underwater in hydrofoil-like fins and position-keeping thrusters.

A glowing cylindrical object, encased in reinforced titanium bars and struts, lay directly in the center of the main disc, suspended by a symmetrical group of armatures.  At last, the VTOL's Pilot spotted the strange objects his wingman had pointed out.  The man barely had time to comprehend the meaning of the sight, before his world was set ablaze.

"BREAK!  BREAK!  Local airspace is hot!  Abort approach!"

The officer pulled back on his stick and rammed both feet into the left rudder pedal.  But it was too little, too late.  The sun-like flash of L-RAC fire from the central disc of the platform cast Viper flight's more immediate concerns into sharp relief.

CIWSS guns were bolted to the platform's extreme edge with heavy duty magnetic clamps, affording them an unobstructed field of fire.  Each weapon was driven by a small AI module, and the entire cluster was cross-linked for efficiency of combined focus-fire.

The weapons' operators had wisely waited until the VTOL flight was well within their sphere of short-range effective fire, before powering the guns, both large and small.  The latter trash-can shaped objects popped from their armored enclosures, swiveled into position, and unleashed a hellish torment of metal.

The incident was over almost before it had even begun.  Even as the long-range artillery continued cycling, uninterrupted, the sea-whizz defensive guns turned the three VTOLs into three rapidly expanding clouds of dust.





"What in the--"

The port side lookout squinted in the direction of the platform's silhouette.  He returned his eyes to his scope, and finally began to comprehend the meaning of the flashes in the distance.

"INCOMING FIRE!!!"

The left side of the ship's island structure vaporized almost instantly under the force of the assault.  The thunderous sound of the impact mixed with the distant muzzle reports of L-RAC gun carriages.

Indianapolis rocked back, and to port, her deck taking on a dangerous list in the process.

The starboard lookout managed to regain his feet, and and force his head into his scope, just in time to see the assault VTOLs disintegrate under a withering hail of CIWSS fire.  Seconds later, another vicious round of impacts hit home.

The top of the island structure was instantly reduced to a flaming mess. Twisted hulking chunks of metal flew up and out in all directions, effectively decapitating the ship where it sat.





"Targets locked.  Port side main engine thrust nozzle.  Central keel buttress.  Main VLS magazine access port.  Starboard side water garage.  Ready to fire!"

The Retribution's Captain shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  He pressed a thumb under his safety harness and wiggled, to relieve some of the pressure.  The Vessel's near-vertical  orientation necessitated the measures.

The man stared up at the hulking gray shape on his viewscreen, and nodded curtly, eyes narrowing.

"Fire at will!"

A series of dull hisses and thuds heralded the exodus of a torpedo barrage from the submarine's front weapon bays.  The Captain watched in anticipation as water trails filled his forward scope.  Several seconds later, the warheads impacted the dark mass above the Retribution, reducing it almost instantly to a fiery coolant slick, laced with traces of debris and bodies.

The LADAR officer nodded slowly, and craned his neck down and around to glance at the Captain.

"Kill confirmed.  Indianapolis destroyed."





The North Carolina shook again as another mine detonated nearby, rocking the ship to starboard and imparting a semi-permanent list to the angle of the deck.  Lantry shouted into his headset, all sense of decorum abandoned.

"HELM!  HARD OVER TO PORT AND SUBMERGE NOW!"

Fyrenn tensed as a bright flash darted across the edge of the main LADAR display.  A moment later, frantic reports came over the comm.

"BRIDGE, STARBOARD LOOKOUT;  INDIANAPOLIS HAS BEEN DESTROYED!"

The words produced a far stronger emotional response than Fyrenn would have predicted.  The loss of life was angering and upsetting enough in and of itself.  More poignant, however, was the fact that the ship had been the only home he had known for years at a time.

Though it had been years since he'd even set foot on the deck, the loss of the ship left him choked for words.  Any attempt at dealing with the roiling anger and pain in his gut was abruptly cut short by a series of alarms, followed swiftly by a loud and discomfiting detonation.

"Bogey!  Bogey!  Enemy vessel has launched TWO airborne hostile contacts!"

The LADAR officer blanched, and nodded.

"Confirmed!  Reading two Lancet Fighter-Bombers, Cherubs four off the deck, making low passes with short-range airburst ordinance!"

The North Carolina rocked once more, and an unsettling groan echoed through the compartment.

Fyrenn found himself helping the TAO to his feet.  The man looked dazed, and sported an enormous gash on his head.  The red Gryphon lifted the officer off the deck and deposited him firmly into an empty seat, cinching the five point harness down over him tightly.

As Kephic scooped up Stan, to keep him stable, Varan extended a wing to help Neyla keep Skye on a level plane.

Fyrenn turned to the officers at the front of the CIC, and began barking commands almost reflexively.

"Countermeasures out!  Fore and aft!  Launch all torpedoes in-tube, and place chaff-dispensing warheads into the reload pool!  Re-task VLS to cover for Columbia to retreat, and focus main batteries on Agincourt's island structure!  All torpedo tubes fire at will until we're under!"

Lantry managed to regain a balanced stance as the ship fully righted itself, and continued issuing commands through his headset.

"EMCON One!  Radio silence and low-emission configuration as soon as the chaff barrier is out!"

The ship pitched forward violently, and shuddered as the embrace of the sea produced immense compression forces against the outer hull.  A series of dull thuds heralded the dispensation of chaff-bearing torpedos.

Fyrenn gestured with a claw, and elevated the volume of his command to ensure there would be no misunderstanding.

"Secure all active emission telemetry systems!"

He toggled his headset to a shipwide channel, and dug into the decking with his claws.

"Brace positions!  Brace positions!  Secure for breaches and outer hull damage!"

North Carolina shuddered in an unsettling manner.  The deck twisted awkwardly, and the sound of screeching metal intensified to terrifying levels.  Fyrenn grit his beak, and curved his claws into the deck hard enough to perforate the metal.

Varan and Neyla remained clamped to the nearest bulkhead struts, securing Skye between them.  Kephic did his best to juggle Lantry and Stan, but found the task awkward as a result of the Pegasus' greater mass.

Fyrenn reached out with one claw and one wing to relieve the speckled Gryphon of Lantry's weight.  The General gulped, and leaned back into the feathery red impromptu acceleration cushion.

All at once, the bedlam came to a halt.  The deck evened out, the screeching of the metal subsided, and several of the more concerning alarms automatically shut off.

Lantry sighed, and extricated himself slowly from his crash position.  He shot Fyrenn a slight smile by way of thanks, before striding over to the TAO.

Fyrenn turned to verify that Skye and Carradan were intact, smiling as comfortingly as he could under the circumstances.  The Unicorn returned the smile, and dipped her head between her front legs, breathing heavily to control a mild onset of nausea.

Cardan smiled wryly, then did a double-take.  He pointed with one hoof towards Fyrenn's crest, and raised an eyebrow.

"Is that what I think it is, lover boy?"

Fyrenn glowered, and hissed briefly.

"Can it.  In case you missed it?  This is not exactly the time for that discussion."

The Pegasus nodded slowly, and glared with a stern, but friendly expression.

"Yeah, yeah...  But don't you think you're gonna weasel out of it altogether."

An angry, forceful voice came over the intercom.  Orik's words instantly put Lantry on edge.

"Just what the *hell* did you do?!  You are NOT in command of this ship, and---"

Fyrenn snatched the headset from Lantry's ear, and held it to the side of his beak.

"Sure.  And neither were you, given that half the ship was about to be blown all to bits, and you weren't doing one single thing about it!  You want to tell him off, you go right ahead and come down here.  But don't count on keeping your arm this time."

The red Gryphon threw the communication device to the deck, and crushed it mercilessly beneath one back paw, glowering and crossing his forelegs.  Lantry shook his head slowly, and sighed.

"You know...  Not that I don't appreciate the solidarity...  But your social skills are really suffering from your lack of sleep.  Your stress release techniques need some work."

Neyla interjected before Fyrenn could reply, glancing up at the roof of the compartment as a shuddering groan passed through the Battleship's superstructure.  The Gryphoness shifted her gaze to the central holotank, and winced as the ship's wireframe blinked red across several important structural braces.

"More pressingly, our current situation is in need of 'some work.' "

Varan snorted, and shook his head, muttering.

"And they say *I'm* a master of understatement..."
> Chapter 58
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"As expected, we've routed them.  Both the Battleship and the other Destroyer escaped, but the latter was damaged virtually beyond combat effectiveness.  They can't communicate with each other, or naval command, without giving away their positions."

Mr. Utah crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow.  He leaned into the communication screen, and the tone of his voice dropped slightly.

"Your objective was to destroy the enemy completely.  If they leave the combat zone in order to communicate with the nearest reinforcements---"

Minos waved a hand absently, and shook his head.

"We deployed a mine barrier.  They can't leave the region without destroying themselves.  At least, not easily.  If they opt to run, it will take them far longer to find a safe exit route than it will take you to finish your work.  Assuming your last five hour estimate was correct."

Mr. Utah glowered, and his eyes narrowed sharply.

"That was not part of our strategic agreement.  I do not respond well when subordinates withhold information from me."

Minos snorted, and pulled away from his side of the communications line, bringing a small portion of Agincourt's bridge into focus.

"I'm not your subordinate.  And let's get something straight;  You may have put up those railgun emplacements, but you require the exemption frequencies to *my* ECM blanket to even hit the broad side of a barn.  My mines on the other hand, require no such leave from you.  And that pretty little tuna can sub of yours wouldn't last thirty seconds against them."

Mr. Utah's face remained seemingly impassive, but muscles around his mouth and eyes contracted in subtle ways nonetheless.  The result was a hardened, dangerous expression.  The tone of his voice changed in similar ways as he enunciated each word carefully.

"I don't need your exemption frequencies.  I just need one small excuse to pull the trigger first.  As far as I'm concerned, that makes you my subordinate.  Now do your job."

Mr. Utah cut the channel with an emphatic flick of his right index finger, before turning to survey the progress of his work teams.  The platform was abuzz with work crews.  The air was filled with the sound of power tools, and sparks from a dozen welding aparati.

Four of the six cylindrical inverter devices were in place.  The platform's maintenance crane was already in the process of raising the fifth into a pre-fitting position.  At ten meter intervals groups of augments, each four strong, stood watch.

Further away down the length of the platform's central disc, uniformed gun crews saw to the L-RAC emplacements, eyes peeled for any sign of hostility from the remaining enemy ships, or the Agincourt.

Mr. Utah pulled his last pack of cigarettes from his inner jacket pocket, and fiddled momentarily with his lighter.  As the first of his nicotine sticks caught, he shook his head and took a series of swift strides towards the nearest work crew.

"Progress report!"





"So...  We're not going to talk about the fact that you're wearing one of Neyla's feathers in your crest now?"

Skye smirked as she delivered the words with a probing, devil-may-care tone.  Fyrenn shook his head absently as he stared into the holotank, his mind firmly fixed on other matters.

"No.  Not really.  If we survive this, though, you can pester *her* about it.  Honestly, you're picking up some of Stan's bad habits."

The Unicorn snorted, and shrugged, crossing her front hooves over the lip of the display tank, and staring at the mess of symbols and cartographic lines shimmering in the air above her muzzle.

"Ehhh...  Well...  He grows on you.  As much as I hate to admit it."

After a moment of silence, she nuzzled the hologram with the tip of her nose, causing it to ripple momentarily.  The forced joviality evaporated from her tone instantly.

"Not a great situation, huh?"

Fyrenn pulled up fully onto his hind legs, and began gesturing towards the tangle of telemetric symbols hovering in the display column.

"Passive sonar and magneto metric readings say there's a good chance we're surrounded by mines.  Going the long way around to get a message to command would take too much time.  Surfacing puts us in a crossfire.  Agincourt would paint us long before we could paint her.  The enemy submarine is still unaccounted for, we're down one ship and we can't communicate with the other."

Kephic sighed as he stepped into the CIC, shaking his head slowly as he picked up on the tail end of the conversation.

"Not to mention the likelihood that they're going to start dropping depth charges any second now."

Skye sighed, and raised an eyebrow.

"Well aren't you just a little ray of optimism in our cloudy day?"

The speckled Gryphon chuckled grimly, and fell back onto his haunches, staring into the holotank as if the force of his stern glare would force it to disgorge answers and solutions.

"I got tired of running laps around deck seven."

The Unicorn winced, and nodded.  She realized that, on an unconscious level, the claustrophobic conditions were taking a toll on them;  Especially the Gryphons, given not only their attachment to open sky, but their strong hatred for inaction.

The sound of talons rapping against the compartment's aft door frame instantly drew everyone's attention.  Varan's grim visage filled the hatchway, and Fyrenn could tell that something had transpired.

The golden Gryphon blinked once, and spoke in a low, urgent tone, inclining his head directly at Fyrenn as he did so.

"You're wanted on the bridge."

The red Gryphon wordlessly dropped to all fours, and began following Varan through the corridor at a swift clip.  Skye and Kephic immediately fell in behind.

Varan continued speaking as claws, paws, and hooves rapped in time against the metal of the deck plating.

"Lantry did not give a specific reason, but he asked me to convey a strong sentiment to you on his behalf;  Please control yourself with regards to Captain Orik."

Fyrenn glowered, and shook his head as the group made its way quickly up a ladder to the bridge deck.  As he pushed through the hatch, and regained footing on horizontal deck, he snorted.

"No promises."

Kephic inclined his head, and grinned slightly.

"Somehow I knew you'd say that."

Varan nodded calmly, and pulled up short a few feet from the bridge's aft port access door.

"I told him not to 'hold his breath.' "

Skye snickered as Varan pushed open the hatch, and winked, muttering to him under her breath as she passed.

"Good answer."

Fyrenn took stock of the bridge as he entered.  Orik stood close to the central holo tank, flanked by Lantry and Carradan.  The Pegasus looked visibly angered, which set the red Gryphon on edge instantly.

As Kephic, Skye, and Varan made their way in behind him, Neyla arrived through the starboard access door.  Orik grunted, and shook his head.

"I'd prefer if we could discuss this in private."

Neyla raised an eyebrow and allowed a low, almost imperceptible hiss to escape her beak.  Kephic snorted, and fixed the man with a hateful glare.  Carradan sat back on his haunches, crossed his front legs, and allowed his muzzle to twist into an expression of pure disgust.

Varan decided to speak the obvious on everyone's behalf.  Fyrenn had known his brother long enough to recognize subtle changes to his flat tone that spoke to a well controlled, but strong, and very dangerous underlying anger.

"We do not always get the outcome which we prefer."

Orik winced reflexively, and continued, albeit at a more hesitant pace.

"Five minutes ago, we picked up a low-band broadwave transmission.  It was directed down and out from the surface.  It was specifically directed at you."

The captain pierced Fyrenn with a sharp gaze, and gestured to the communications officer.  The man nodded, and pressed several rapid fire commands on his console.  A familiar voice crackled through the bridge speakers.

Fyrenn reflexively glowered, and tensed, as Minos' words issued forth.

"I have no doubt that the red Gryphon is down there with you.  He's proven he'd never miss a chance at vengeance.  So I'll make this simple for all of you. Convince him to give up the location of the child, and I will break my agreement with the HLF, disable my mines, and withdraw from the area.  You have ten minutes."

A discomfiting silence ensued, during which Fyrenn probed Orik's face for any sign of his thoughts.  At last, the Captain spoke, choking back his fear word by word.

"Fyrenn...  I have to ask you to consider this as a viable option.  I'd rather not make it an order, or worse, but that isn't off the table.  We're talking about our best shot at saving billions of lives.  You left her under excellent care and protection.  I'm asking you to trust that the girl is provided for, and take a worthwhile risk."

The red Gryphon nodded slowly, eliciting expressions of pure shock from everyone else in the room, Orik included.

"In a sense, you're right.  I don't much care to admit it...  But under almost any other circumstances?  I'd be forced to agree with you."

Fyrenn inhaled deeply, then shook his head once curtly as he continued.

"But given the way Earthgov has turned a blind eye to this mess for political reasons...  Probably are the primary stakeholders to the whole affair...  And given that Minos is, by nature, entirely dishonest and ruthless?  More likely to shoot down both us, and the HLF, in the same breath?  I have to put my claw down firmly here.  The likelihood of reward does not outweigh the severity of risk."

The red Gryphon turned, and began making his way to the corridor once more.  Orik's eyes narrowed, and he threw out one hand as his voice took on an almost pleading quality, tainted thoroughly by frustration.

"You're biased!  If this were anyone else's child, you'd be prepared to make the right call without hesitation!"

Fyrenn halted, and tensed.  He kept his gaze fixed firmly ahead, but his tone dipped into a low, dangerous warning growl that rattled the decking beneath his paws.

"Unlike you, I am not prepared to use children, *anyone's* children, as bargaining chips.  This conversation is over."

Neyla nodded slowly, and took a menacing step towards the Captain, her voice deceptively calm.

"Do not put yourself, or your crew, in further danger needlessly.  You have our answer, and it is final."

Orik shook his head, and sighed.

"We're not simply talking about this ship, or my crew.  We're talking about the populations of entire species now.  If you refuse to co-operate, I will have you placed under arrest, and I will acquire the information I need through one of your companions, or from General Lantry."

Fyrenn turned, and flared both wings slightly.  Loud echoing whines filled the bridge, as Orik, several of his officers, and two marine guards, drew their sidearms.

The red Gryphon snorted, and raised an eyebrow.

"Why?  You know from experience that this can't end well for you."

Orik tensed, and inclined his head slightly, keeping his pistol firmly trained at a spot directly between Fyrenn's eyes.

"Because deep down, I guess I just can't accept the idea that you'd kill your old CO in cold blood.  I don't think you have it in you.  And I don't for a moment buy a single thing you have to say about our superiors.  They have my complete loyalty."

Lantry winced, and shook his head emphatically.

"Please Orik... Put the weapon down.  You're inviting disaster!"

Fyrenn sighed, and chuckled grimly.

"You've made two mistakes.  The first is presuming that I'd be merciful because we served together.  Trust me when I say that I would have beaten you to a pulp even then, if you gave me good enough reason.  The second?"

The red Gryphon inclined his head towards Neyla.  Orik turned as Fyrenn spoke.  

"You should be far more worried about her, than me."

The man barely had a moment to comprehend what he was seeing, accompanied by the red Gryphon's words, before his world snuffed out.  Neyla threw a vicious double-winged punch, visibly deforming the sides of Orik's head.

The impact sent the man's body spinning backwards over the holotank.  He came to rest against the opposite bulkhead with a sickening thud, bleeding profusely from several distinct points on his skull.

The majority of the bridge officers were too stunned to act.  The marine guards attempted to open fire, but abruptly found their own weapons turned towards their lower jaw region, under the vice-like impetus of Kephic and Varan's claws.

The men wisely opted to release the weapons, taking a series of tentative steps backwards and raising their hands skyward in surrender.

Lantry bent over Orik, and swiftly placed two fingers to the side of his neck.  He glanced up and gestured emphatically to the nearest officer.

"He's alive.  Get a med team up here."

The General rocked back slightly in his crouched position, and shook his head grimly.

"I can't say he wasn't warned...  But honestly, did you really have to put him in intensive care?  We're running out of qualified naval officers at a rate of spades...  Brutality serves no purpose now."

Lantry glanced up at Fyrenn, and raised an eyebrow.

"I'm hoping, for all our sakes, that you've got some idea for where to go from here.  You helped put us in this mess...  So you had better damn well get us out."

An awkward silence hung over the bridge for a moment.  Fyrenn kept his breathing slow, and calm, as his mind raced frantically to intuitively knit together an uncountable number of variables into a workable configuration.

The General rose, and fixed the red Gryphon with an expression midway between concern, anticipation, and disappointment.

"I brought you out here for your capacity to turn impossible situations around.  I was gambling that you'd bring something to the table that would outweigh the negative repercussions of cooping you up down here.  For the love of God, prove me right."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed as the tiniest spark of a concept took root in the back of his mind.  He inhaled deeply, then began to firmly enumerate his requests.

"Clean up that transmission, store a hard copy.  Cross-compare every last bit of telemetry from the moment it arrived.  They would have had to send the burst during a lapse in the oscillation of the ECM blanket.  Work back from that and figure out if we can isolate the frequency to send our own short-range bursts.  Skye is on point for that task."

The red Gryphon turned back to the hatchway, speaking firmly as he left the bridge.

"Get the TAO on his feet again.  He's the ranking competent naval officer.  I want him, and the CAG, on the hangar deck in ten minutes."

Stan raised an eyebrow, and his tone crept upwards in a minute expression of hope.

"You have a plan?"

Fyrenn shook his head as he reached the top of the ladder.

"Almost.  Just assume that I will in ten minutes, if it makes you feel better."





"Sir?  Time's up."

Minos pursed his lips, and nodded slowly.  He stared thoughtfully out the front bridge windows as a particularly large wave broke over the ship's bow.  The man sighed, rubbed the back of his head absently, then nodded at the Agincourt's Captain.

"Alright then.  It was worth a try.  Start dumping depth charges.  Four a minute, high-density spread, magnetically configured.  Put the Lancets on reconnaissance duty."

Minos sighed, and folded his arms over the back of the Captain's chair as the officer moved around the bridge, quietly issuing a series of orders.

Agincourt's command center was especially long, compared to the average naval bridge, and barely a single story high.  Most of what might have been the CIC was collapsed into the sides, and rear of the compartment.

As a result, missile control was more immediately accessible, and easier for the command staff to communicate with on short notice.

The chamber had been conceived, and built to Earthgov naval standards, but lacked the colors and insignia normally associated with a navy vessel.  Instead, nearly everything was painted a drab shade of light gray, with default yellow stripes to indicate the placement of junction boxes, and fiber optic lines.

Minos stared out at the ocean and squinted, mumbling to himself as the ship pitched into another swell.

"You can't hide forever..."





Fyrenn placed the oversized DaTab down on the work cart with no small amount of emphatic force.  He clutched the edges of the device, and leaned in, locking eyes with each member of the group in turn.

The distant thud of depth charges punctuated the relative silence of the hangar deck at disturbingly regular intervals.

Stan maintained a slight tinge of optimism on his muzzle.  Skye seemed genuinely curious.  Kephic, Varan, and Neyla all bore stern looks of supportive resolve.  Lantry seemed largely preoccupied with keeping the TAO on his feet.

The Air Group Commander looked completely unimpressed, eyeing Fyrenn with unabashed suspicion, mixed with a healthy dose of well subsumed fear.  Two other bridge officers were present;  The LADAR officer seemed shaken, but the communications officer seemed surprisingly unfazed.

Fyrenn tapped several keys on the touchscreen before him, summoning a cartographic display.  He glanced up once more, and raised one eyebrow slightly.

"We are operating at a disadvantage in terms of time, resources, and position.  In practical terms?  That means its time for 'no-holds-barred asymmetric warfare...'  My favorite five words on the battlefield, incidentally.  Our main disadvantage stems from the enemy's ECM field, so our first primary objective should be turning that firmly against them."

Fyrenn gestured to the comms officer as he continued.

"I'm told that the ship's AI, with a little help from Skye, have managed to pick out a break in the blanket's frequency.  We're going to exploit this by making use of a unique opportunity the enemy has delivered gift-wrapped to our doorstep."

The Gryphon flicked a switch with one talon, and Minos' voice poured forth from the DaTab.

"I have no doubt that the red Gryphon is down there with you.  He's proven he'd never miss a chance at vengeance.  So I'll make this simple for all of you. Convince him to give up the location of the child, and I will break my agreement with the HLF, disable my mines, and withdraw from the area.  You have ten minutes."

Fyrenn stabbed one index talon down towards the screen for emphasis.

"We're going to re-transmit this on the wide-band surface channels, at maximum amplification, making use of the exemption trough in the ECM blanket's current frequency setting.  Agincourt will be forced to rotate the field harmonic settings to cover for their treachery, thus locking the HLF out, and making them just as blind as we are."

Varan nodded slowly, an approving hint of an upturn gracing one corner of his beak as he murmured softly.

"Divide et impera."

The TAO shook his head, and narrowed his eyes, wincing as the motions exacerbated the throbbing pain in his temple.

"That will instantly give away our position.  They'll have torpedoes, mines, and depth charges all over us before we can even begin to take evasive actions.  You'll have to forgive me if I'm not immediately enamored with your plan.  Especially seeing as how you helped put my captain in a coma."

The red Gryphon nodded, and pointed with an index talon.

"Valid point.  But I'm not finished."

Fyrenn tapped the display again, and gestured for the group to tighten the circle.  A wireframe aircraft schematic filled the screen, rotating lazily about two axes by turns.

"Wild weasel.  With a twist."

He gestured to the ship's compliment of aircraft, tucked snugly into their storage bays with folded wings, wheels firmly locked down with magnetic clamps.

"Most of the consignment onboard are Scythes.  Useless in our current situation.  Can't be launched while submerged, and will be too vulnerable in takeoff configuration after surfacing.  But if you'll direct your gaze to the last two bays on the right, you'll see two HFB-17 SeaHawks.  Originally designed for sub-surface launch configurations."

The CAG shook his head emphatically, and snorted, levelling an accusatory finger at Fyrenn.

"Now you're just blowing crap out of those fuzzy ears. The SeaHawk program shifted away from that system three years ago.  We only stock them to fill a heavy fighter-bomber role now."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and the edges of his beak turned down in a mixture of disdain, and dismissal.

"So much for the famous aviator 'can-do' attitude.  This ship has two fully equipped machine shops, and an entire crew of air mechanics for *each* craft that have nothing better to do at the moment.  You're telling me they can't be bothered to at least give this a shot?"

The Commander crossed his arms, but offered no verbal objection.  Fyrenn nodded curtly, and continued unperturbed.

"Most modern fighters could almost fly themselves based on their AI wire-guidance package.  The wild weasel doesn't need to undertake complex combat maneuvers.  It just needs to divert mine, torpedo, and depth charge tracking to its own signature for a matter of seconds, at best."

The red Gryphon swiped a claw across the DaTab, returning it to the map display as he inhaled deeply.

"Our next objective has to be the platform itself.  No matter what, and if all else fails, that structure must be painted with active targeting beams.  We must assume that the initial assault failed to even reach the objective.  So this time, we do it the Gryphon way."

Fyrenn gestured to Kephic and Varan, who each nodded in turn.

"You two will be the tip of the spear, and transport.  You're each certainly capable of carrying one lightly armored, well armed trooper, so that gives us a four-person breach team."

Lantry held up a hand, and squinted down at the DaTab.

"Excuse me...  But isn't the pressure at this depth too great, even for you?  Let alone a Human being?  Your plan requires us to surface, and that makes the ship too vulnerable."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and allowed the tiniest hint of a grin to creep onto his beak.

"This is where we have to get creative."

He tapped at the DaTab once more, calling up a series of tactical illustrations as he outlined his idea.

"Our first SeaHawk is going to act as a wild weasel.  We send out our short-range, high-power transmission.  Immediately following that, the North Carolina will launch *both* SeaHawk's, and initiate a series of high-torsion evasive actions.  The first SeaHawk will peel away under drone control, and drag the majority of enemy ordnance with it."

The red Gryphon glanced up, and inclined his head towards the aircraft.

"The second will be a crewed mission.  Its objective is to reach the surface as quickly as possible, and deploy our own home-brewed ECM canisters."

Lantry, the TAO, and the CAG all winced as they took note of the on-screen specifications describing Fyrenn's 'home-brewed' solution.  The Gryphon sighed, and nodded slowly as he finished.

"With that cover out, the Agincourt is at a distinct disadvantage, since she lacks railgun-based firepower as compared to us.  With the majority of her missile targeting systems disrupted, she will be a viable kill.  The North Carolina will surface and keep her engaged, at point-blank range, with support from the SeaHawk, while the strike team seeds the platform with targeting beacons.  As soon as the beacons go live, the North Carolina will obliterate the platform."

After a long moment of thoughtful silence, the TAO nodded slowly, speaking with an even and surprisingly calm tone.

"I perceive two serious flaws in your plan.  First;  The crewed SeaHawk is essentially impossible to operate under the conditions you're describing."

The CAG let out a sound halfway between a snort, and a chuckle, and shook his head, stroking his moustache absently.

"You'd have to pull over fifty Gs of sustained maneuvering and acceleration forces to avoid being targeted, and destroyed before you break the surface.  That's well into the red.  Lethal.  Kaput.  Finite.  The program was mothballed for a good reason."

Lantry nodded, and dipped his head.

"And if I'm not mistaken, the TAO is also going to point out that your plan doesn't factor in the submarine, which is still unaccounted for, and represents a dangerous adversary in our present condition."

Fyrenn shrugged both wings, and nodded.

"I'll admit;  I can't really account for the sub.  But the plan has a certain amount of built-in flexibility thanks to the SeaHawk, and the Columbia, the latter of which may join the battle and tip the scales further in our favor.  As to the problem of G-forces..."

The red Gryphon tried, and failed, to keep a wide smile off his beak as he continued, crossing his forelegs and inclining his head.

"Sure.  A human pilot can't take that kind of pressure in a sustained situation...  But the aircraft is rated for a maximum stress of ninety five Gs.  I couldn't necessarily say what the average Gryphon is rated for, except to point out that I know I've pushed well over sixty five Gs before, without coming even close to a gray-out."

The CAG shook his head emphatically and exhaled sharply.

"No.  No you're too big, and too heavy, for the cockpit.  SeaHawk is a two-person job, even under the best of conditions.  You must weigh close to a quarter of a ton..."

Fyrenn rolled his eyes and perked his ears.

"Oh please.  Probably a fair bit less than that.  Besides, you regularly bolt two-thousand pound ordinance to the wings of that thing.  Just pull all non-essential items from the configuration.  As for the fit?  I measured it.  If you remove the seats and ejection mechanisms, we can fit sitting on the cockpit floor, with two inches to spare."

Skye blinked twice, and cocked her head.

"Now when you say 'we'?"

Fyrenn dipped his head towards Neyla, and grinned.

"I mean *we.*  Neyla is the only other non-Human here that's fully qualified in military grade vehicle weapons systems."

The TAO squinted, and exhaled slowly as he reluctantly voiced his opinion.

"You're not flight qualified."

All three of the top-level Human officers looked ready to pile on further objections, but Fyrenn held up a claw, and shook his head slowly.

"I have a pair of wings.  My reflexes are so fast that even the best pilot in the world would be orders of magnitude slower.  I spent most of my initial military career preparing to be a pilot.  I am as qualified as it's going to get.  Before you raise any further points, or talk about how short we are of time, let me ask you this...  In all honesty..."

Fyrenn glanced at each of the Human officers in turn, then loosed his question.

"Do any of you have a better idea?"

After a beat of silence passed, the red Gryphon crossed his forelegs, and snorted.

"Do any of you have *an* idea at all?  Of any description?  I'm sure I speak for everyone when I say that all options are on the table at this point."

Another moment of silence passed awkwardly.  Fyrenn brought his eyes to rest on Lantry, and sighed, rubbing the back of his head with one claw.

"I'm nobody's diplomat.  The jury is still out on whether or not I'll be a good father.  I can't really offer an unbiased perspective on whether or not I've been a good brother...  And I certainly haven't been a good little soldier..."

Fyrenn's eyes hardened, and his wings tensed as his voice took on a determined edge.

"But I am a good fighter.  A good warrior.  And you had better believe I'm good at improvising.  You said you brought me here for my unconventional tactical insight.  Well here it is.  Take it or leave it."

Lantry sighed, and seemed to take a great interest in examining the pits and scrapes of the decking beneath his boots.  He shuffled thoughtfully for a long moment, then glanced up at the CAG.

"How long will it take your crews to make the modifications to the aircraft?"

The man exhaled slowly, then threw up his hands.

"Five hours.  Give or take.  Assuming everyone who isn't busy with damage control pitches in."

Lantry nodded curtly, then shot a half-smile at Fyrenn.

"Do it.  And pray we've got five hours to burn."
> Chapter 59
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn grimaced, and poured an extra measure of strength into his right foreleg.  The additional pressure caused the cutting device to squeal in protest.  A shower of sparks blew back against his right claw, but he ignored the pinpricks of hot light, concentrating on the seam he was attempting to separate from the main airframe.

At last, with a hiss and a resounding snap, the object came free.  Fyrenn shut off the plasma torch, and set it aside carefully.  He grasped the avionics package firmly with both claws, and gave it a harsh yank, separating it entirely from its housing frame.

He turned away from the fighter's nose to find himself face to face with General Lantry.  He carefully laid the electronics module to rest, and sighed, leaning against the object for a brief respite.

Lantry surveyed the hangar deck with a long, meandering gaze, and exhaled slowly in awe.

Both SeaHawks had been moved into the central space, and suspended on maintenance gantries.  Both aircraft were missing dozens of exterior panels.  Work crews swarmed over the exterior of the jets, welding, cutting, removing, and adding components as necessary.

The entire chamber was filled with the sounds of heavy machinery.  Sparks flew from several places at any given moment, whizzing outwards with surprising velocity, before falling gracefully to extinguish themselves on the deck, like glowing snowflakes.

The General shook his head, and sighed.

"How much longer?"

Fyrenn shrugged both wings, then set about replacing the nose panel he had been working behind.  As he spoke, he carefully secured the initial locking tabs, then cast about for the six heavy duty clamping bolts used to keep the object in place during flight.

"Thirty, maybe forty minutes.  The major structural work is done, and the build teams have already finished the dazzle-canisters.  There are a few loose bits to tie off, and some last minute adjustments to the cockpit still left to be done."

As he finished cinching down the last bolt, the red Gryphon jerked his head towards the rear of the aircraft.

"Oh...  And the two troublemakers back there wanted to put their own finishing touch on as well."

Lantry narrowed his eyes, and strode towards the rear of the aircraft, carefully maneuvering between a series of tool carts, and disassembled flight control modules.  The General found Stan and Skye braced against the rear tailfin, holding a stencil firmly in place.

Skye had a paint sprayer suspended in her magic field, and was steadily making a series of sweeping passes across the length of the stencil's cutout.

The General folded his arms, and raised an eyebrow.

"You two couldn't find something more useful to do?"

Stan snorted, and rolled his eyes.

"Nah.  You wouldn't believe how stingy these flyboy types are.  If you can't tell the difference between a vertical stabilizer, and an aileron, they don't want you within twenty feet of their tools."

Skye stuck out her tongue briefly, and juked the sprayer briefly to cover for a bald patch, before releasing the trigger, and nodding in satisfaction.

"Besides;  This is, apparently, aviation tradition."

Lantry gestured with one hand, and sighed.  The two Ponies pulled back, bringing the stencil with them, and revealing the entirety of the three-toned design beneath.  The emblem consisted of two Gryphons, back to back, one red, one blue.  Each held a stylized lightning bolt in one claw, as if ready to hurl it down upon some unseen enemy.

The General snorted, and glowered disapprovingly down at the Equines.

"Fyrenn will have your heads."

Stan waved one hoof absently, and grinned.

"Nah.  Apparently he has a model of some antique warbird, and of all things they called it a 'lightning.'  We thought he'd appreciate the reference."

The two Ponies jumped reflexively as Fyrenn stepped up behind them, his voice the first and only obvious indication of his otherwise silent arrival.

"He does appreciate the reference, though he doubts Neyla will appreciate being drawn in solid blue."

Skye rolled her eyes, and snorted.

"It isn't our fault that her markings are so complicated!"

Before Fyrenn could phrase a worthwhile retort, the ship vibrated gently.  The oscillation was accompanied by an ominously loud rumbling noise, and the creak of damaged structural beams as compression waves traveled through them.

Stan whistled, and blanched.

"That one was a lot closer..."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he strode back towards the cockpit, shouting to make himself heard to the entire hangar.

"Let's pick up the pace!  One final effort!  Close it all up!  Get those hardpoints ready for the ordinance, and put the loaders on-deck!  Get the fueling lines ready!"





"Lower!  Six inches!  Four...  Two...  LOCK!"

The supervisor waved his arms in an 'x' pattern, and nodded.

"Cut the cables, and secure the braces!"

He turned to Mr. Utah, and nodded slowly, gesturing over his shoulder with one thumb as technicians swarmed over the exterior of the final cylinder.

"The array is in place.  We've got to run a calibration pass, and finish tying off the mains to the platform's own fusion core.  After that, we'll be ready for a first attempt."

Mr. Utah stared out at the immense array of devices, and smiled slightly.  The cylindrical field manipulators were arranged symmetrically around the platform's central electromagnetic field generator coil.  Each cylinder was held in place by a locking mechanism at its lower end, which was in turn welded directly to the platform's truss network.

Mr. Utah sighed, and privately wished for another pack of cigarettes.  Rather than voicing his complaint, he did his best to remain composed, and pragmatic.

"How long to completion?"

The supervisor waggled one hand, and inclined his head.

"Forty, maybe fifty five minutes.  Depends on the calibration run really.  No more than fifty five."

Mr. Utah nodded slowly, and gestured for the man to resume his work.  As the activity on the platform came to a crescendo, Mr. Utah glanced across the intervening space to the barrier itself.  He had never been quite so close before, and he found it even more hateful from a relatively close vantage point.

He glowered, and narrowed his eyes.

"Soon."





Fyrenn exhaled slowly, and brushed one claw lovingly along the rim of the cockpit.  He shook his head slowly, and thumped the side of his helmet with his right claw to ensure it was tightly secured.

Neyla placed a claw on his right shoulder, yanking him forcefully from his musings.  He glanced over his shoulder, and the Gryphoness smiled slightly.

"You really are enjoying this on some level.  In spite of everything."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and chuckled, tapping the side of the jet with one index talon.

"I've wanted to fly a combat fighter ever since I can remember understanding the concept of an airplane in the first place.  Forgive me if I can't withhold my enthusiasm."

Neyla released her comforting hold on Fyrenn's shoulder, and glanced back at the sweep of the jet's right wing, shaking her head slowly and flattening her ears.

"When you first described these craft to me, I never for a moment dreamed that I would fly in one.  I'll admit;  I am looking forward to it."

A loud clank put an abrupt end to the moment.  Both Gryphons glanced up sharply, to see that the drone craft had been fully sealed into the starboard launch tube.  The deck crew were jogging back down the length of the hangar already, eyes fixed on the second SeaHawk.

The refueling team had already finished their work, and the weapons handlers were finishing final checks on the craft's guns.  In the interest of weight, the only objects mounted to the vehicle's external hardpoints were the home-made 'dazzle canisters' Fyrenn had concocted.

With no missiles, the SeaHawk would be relying entirely on twin thirty five millimeter railgun autocannons, internally mounted at the frontal joints of the wings, for offensive armament.

Fyrenn gestured up to the cockpit, and grinned slightly.

"Ladies first."

He extended both forelegs to offer Neyla something to brace against as she scrambled up the side of the nose, and into the cockpit space.  The Gryphoness turned, and offered her claws to Fyrenn.

The red Gryphon locked his claws with Neyla's, and allowed her to provide hoisting force, while he used his wings and back paws to guide the remainder of his weight upwards.  He pushed up and over the lip, into the cockpit, and turned in time to see Lantry, Kephic, Varan, Skye, and Stan arriving from the nearest corridor.

As Fyrenn did his best to seat himself on the floor of the cockpit, he threw off a mock salute with his right claw, and grinned once more.

"I feel like a kid on Christmas morning."

Varan narrowed his eyes, and snorted.

"Return safely.  I do not entirely trust this craft, given that it was designed by flightless prey simians."

Lantry exhaled, and rubbed the back of his neck absently.

"Flightless prey simians who made it to the moon less than a century after they figured out powered flight in the first place."

Kephic inclined his head, and smirked.

"He has a point there."

Neyla nodded, and allowed herself a small, almost melancholy smile.

"Don't worry.  I will make sure he doesn't do anything unnecessarily foolish."

Fyrenn smiled down at Skye and Carradan, then winked.

"Hold the ship together.  And absolutely no gossip about this..."

The red Gryphon gestured to the blue feather tucked into his crest, and glared sternly down at the Equines.

"I will find out, and then believe-you-me, you will regret it."

Stan returned the wink, and chuckled.  His tone strongly indicated that there was little, or no veracity behind his words.

"Sure thing."

Skye inclined her head, and smiled.

"No problem.  You two lovebirds have fun."

Fyrenn glanced back at Neyla, and the Gryphoness shook her head slowly, speaking in a mock stage whisper.

"You were right.  Stan is a bad influence."

Fyrenn chuckled, and rapped one fisted claw against the side of the cockpit.

"Close us up.  Before I climb out of here and smack their heads together."

Neyla nodded, and shifted her hindquarters to secure a more comfortable position.  She pulled down the makeshift retention harness, and clicked all five restraint points into place.  As the Gryphoness worked, Fyrenn performed a similar task on his own safety belts.

Though hodge-podged together from other restraint harnesses, the system was as well fitted as it could be, given the short amount of time the team had been given to improvise something that would fit a Gryphon.

Fyrenn flexed his wings slightly, noting that some of the cushioning from the removed seats had been used to build small braces to keep the Gryphons' wings from abrading against the hard metal of the consoles, bulkheads, and dividers.

Neyla flipped several switches on her panel, bringing both her controls, and Fyrenn's to life.  She took a moment to familiarize herself with the console, calling up her visual memory of the brief half hour she'd spent with the manual, then nodded curtly.

"Sealing the canopy."

The Gryphoness pushed down on a large yellow physical toggle to her right, and the SeaHawk's canopy rotated into a closed position, letting out a hiss and a small whine as magnetic pressure seals produced an airtight environment.

The SeaHawk jolted slightly as a maintenance tug latched onto the front wheel strut, and began pulling the craft towards the port launch tube loading door.

Neyla exhaled slowly, and shook her head.

"This is the second...  No, third time we've crammed ourselves into some Human contraption recently as part of one of your feather-brained 'plans.'  I'm beginning to think you have an obsession of some kind."

Fyrenn chuckled, and glanced into his rear view mirrors, catching the Gryphoness' gaze momentarily.

"You're only just *beginning* to think I have an obsession?  Either you're slower on the uptake than you've led me to believe...  Or you're just trying to be nice.  And it would be the fourth time for me."

He sighed, and began configuring his panel, moving quickly and methodically through the engine start checklist.  As he pressed switches, and tapped away at his console's central touchscreen, his mind raced.  Nevertheless, he mustered enough spare brain power to carry on the conversation quietly.

"You realize we're not likely to survive this.  Right?"

He glanced back up at his rear view mirror, and again made eye contact with Neyla as he continued.

"This thing is slow, heavy, and fairly large compared to a fast strike attack fighter.  There are two of them, fully armed, with support from an arsenal ship.  We aren't likely to last more than a few seconds after we deploy those canisters.  Presuming we even get that far."

Neyla nodded slowly, and kept her eyes firmly locked with Fyrenn's.  Her tone was firm, and her manner resolute.

"If I am going to die?  I have decided I would like nothing better than to die with you, in the fire of battle.  If that should happen hurtling along in this ridiculous metal airship?  So be it.  Though if anyone could bring this craft through this trial intact?  It would be us.  Of that I have no doubt."

Fyrenn shook his head, and frowned.

"Whatever it is you see in me?  I'm not quite sure it's there.  But I'm glad to have you with me.  If Dad could've met you?  He would have said there was no one better for me to fly with."

The SeaHawk jolted momentarily as it passed over a lip in the decking, and into the launch tube itself.  The tug cut loose and pulled away, while a magnetic latch was secured to the front wheel strut by two airmen.

As soon as the technicians were clear, the maglatch drew the aircraft fully into the tube.  Fyrenn glanced over his right shoulder, and watched as the rear pressure hatch moved steadily, and inexorably towards its closed position.

As soon as the immense portal was closed, and sealed, a voice came on the comms.

"Lightning One;  launch tube is sealed.  Commence your engine startup sequence."

Fyrenn flicked two switches on his console, and nodded.

"Begin engine start checklist.  Verify connection to external APU."

Neyla nodded, and peered down at her console.

"Verified."

"Setting throttle in cutoff position.  Toggle igniters to 'start' mode."

Fyrenn reached to his left, and pushed the throttle lever forward from the reverse setting until it encountered a soft deadzone, just before the one percent forward notch.  Neyla reached up to a panel suspended over her head, and flicked two switches to the left, dislodging their cover hats deftly in the process.

"Igniters in 'start' mode."

The red Gryphon glanced down at his instruments, and quickly verified that no warnings had crossed the panel.

"Activate starter motors, full spin."

The Gryphoness turned two knob-like structures on her right panel all the way to their stops, then pressed a series of icons on her touchscreen.  A subtle whine began to fill the cockpit, and the SeaHawk began to vibrate ever so slightly.

"Starter motors on."

Fyrenn grinned, and inhaled.

"Close front intakes, and configure engines for internal oxidation.  LOX pumps one and two to 'standby-on' position, prime inlet injectors."

Neyla tapped away at her touchscreen once more, then depressed two large red buttons on her left side panel.  Another quiet whine joined the first, along with a series of quiet hissing sounds to the rear.

The Gryphoness nodded as graphs and indicators filled her screen.

"Front intakes closed, hard seal confirmed.  LOX pumps at 'standby-on,' flow to inlet injectors is within specified tolerances."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, and gripped the control column firmly with his right claw.

"Set LOX auto-injection start for twenty five thousand RPM."

Neyla tapped three keys on her touchscreen, and glanced up at Fyrenn's rear view mirrors to make eye contact.

"Set.  Twenty five thousand RPM.  Starter is at ten thousand RPM and climbing."

Fyrenn tapped his mic, and glanced right out of the cockpit.  He could just make out the catapult operator, sequestered behind a five inch thick, four inch high slit of pressure-proof plexiglass, in his own special compartment adjacent to the launch tube.

"Shooter, Lightning One;  Entering final pre-launch check phase."

"Roger Lightning One.  Board is green, lift-lock released, capacitors charged.  Bridge and airboss have asked me to advise you that everything else is prepped, and mission clock is being synced to your count.  Give the word when ready."

Fyrenn nodded, and tossed Neyla another glance in his rearview mirrors.

"Control surface check.  Left side?"

The red Gryphon waggled the stick left, depressed the left side rudder pedal, and pushed the flaps switch back a notch.  Neyla twisted as far left as she could to get a solid view of the aircraft's wing.  She nodded as she watched the ailerons, left rudder, and flaps move smoothly.

"Left side functioning smoothly."

The red Gryphon reversed his actions, and raised an eyebrow.

"Right side?"

Neyla twisted her head around to the other side, and nodded.

"Right side is functioning as well."

Fyrenn chuckled as the SeaHawk jolted sharply.  An ear-piercing whine blasted forth from the engine nozzles as the main jet engine caught, sucking in oxidizer from the meager sea-launch supply reservoir tucked between the engines.  The starter motor cut automatically.

The red Gryphon pushed the throttle lever out of cut off and up to the five percent mark, filling the launch tube with a cacophonous polyphonic roar that spoke to the immense power contained in the fighter's powerplant.  The smell of jet fuel began seeping into the cockpit through the internal void spaces of the airframe.

"This is where it gets *fun.*  You ever been this close to one of these engines?"

Neyla shook her head, and tried to muster a faint smile.

"Not really, no."

Fyrenn grinned.

"Well you're going to *love* this.  Set targeting computers for payload dispersion configuration.  Toggle HUD to sea-launch mode.  Switch master arm to 'standby-test.' "

Neyla swiftly began flicking switches, and tapping at her touchscreen.  Fyrenn reached out and lifted the hat covers over his master arm switch, before swiftly toggling it to 'standby-test.'  Both he and Neyla had to set their master arm to the same setting to trigger an actual change.

"Targeting computers, such as they are, are configured for payload dispersion.  Switching HUD to sea-launch mode.  Master arm switch to 'standby test' setting."

Fyrenn nodded, and flicked open the trigger cover on his control stick.

"Testing guns..."

He pulled back on the trigger, and noted a satisfying thrum as the railguns spun up in their housings.

"Good spin, good discharge on capacitors, green lights on loading mechanisms.  Pre-launch checks complete.  Reset master arm to standby-active."

The red Gryphon smiled, and took hold of the throttle quadrant with his left claw.

"As the saying goes;  Let's rock and roll!"

Neyla snorted, and smiled.

"Why do I feel as though you've been waiting to say that for a long time?"

Fyrenn nodded, and began pushing the throttle slowly forward.

"Oh, you have *no* idea."

The SeaHawk began to shake, as if a storm had brewed up in the rear compartment.  The cockpit, and the launch chamber, became a nearly unbearable orchestra of thunderous raw power.

Fyrenn tapped his mic, and glanced right once more to the shooter's redoubt.

"Shooter, Lightning One;  Advise bridge that we are going into launch countdown.  Ten seconds from this mark."

The man nodded, and held up one hand with his index finger and thumb curved together in an 'ok' sign.

"On your signal Lightning One.  Good luck and Godspeed."

Fyrenn nodded, and pressed the throttle the rest of the way forward.  He offered Neyla one last glance in the rear view, and exhaled slowly.

"Do or die...  Just like always."

Neyla nodded, and braced herself calmly.

"Is there any other way?"

The red Gryphon smirked, and released the control stick just long enough to make a forward swishing motion with his right foreleg.  The shooter nodded, and Fyrenn barely had time to put his right claw on the control stick again, before the world went topsy turvy.

All at once, the magnetic catapult shot forward, dragging the craft with it towards the seemingly solid and fatal forward bulkhead.  In the blink of an eye, the launch door irised open like the shutter of a camera, allowing the SeaHawk to escape with just inches to spare.

Propelled by a combination of the catapult, the pressure of the chamber's air bubble, and her own immense engines, the fighter shot out into the ocean at nearly the half the speed of sound.

Fyrenn pulled back hard on the stick, and rammed the throttle all the way into the afterburn position.  The air bubble around the craft instantly formed into a supercavitating pocket, and the SeaHawk quickly began to accelerate towards Mach one.

The angle of the climb, combined with the rate of acceleration, pushed the G-meter on Fyrenn's console into the low fifties almost instantly.  He reached out with one claw and flicked a switch to silence the caution alarm.

He glanced at his HUD, and inhaled.

"The clock is running!"





"Mission clock is running!  Burst transmission is out!"  

The LADAR operator clutched his headset, then swiveled in his seat.

"Lightning One and Lightning Two are confirmed away!"

The TAO nodded, and offered Lantry a sideways glance as he spoke.

"Crash dive! Break to port and accelerate at full military thrust!"

The helmsman nodded, and rammed a series of control levers forward, spinning the lateral directional control wheel firmly.

"Crash dive, aye!  Coming port forty degrees and accelerating to flank speed!"

The bridge lighting went red abruptly, and alarms began to sound throughout the ship.  Having learned their lesson previously, Skye, Carradan, and Lantry were all firmly strapped into spare officer seats behind the holotank.

The Battleship pitched forward sharply, and a strong acceleration force pushed the officers back firmly into their seats.

"We have inbound ordinance!  Four torpedoes, six mines, and two depth charges!  Our hull is being painted by targeting lasers!"

The LADAR officer squinted up into his display bank, and blanched reflexively.

The TAO cinched the straps on his chair absently, eyes locked firmly on the tactical display projected onto the forward windows.

"Activate the wild weasel.  Initiate slow starboard spin on our central axis and bring the nose up seven degrees."

Structural buttresses groaned as the ship began to rotate, pushing back against the drag forces of the ocean with the immense force of her thruster banks.  The comms officer tapped at his display, and glanced briefly over his shoulder.

"CIC reports wild weasel is active."

"Cut engines to one fourth thrust, and rig the ship for a total non-emission state."

The acting Captain inhaled sharply, and riveted his eyes to the infographic depicting the incoming warheads.  If even half of the ordinance struck the North Carolina at such depth, in such a damaged condition, the vessel would likely implode from the stress.

The helmsman grit his teeth, and pulled back firmly on the throttle quadrant.

"One fourth thrust, aye."

The LADAR officer began swiftly flicking a bank of physical switches beside his central console, and nodded.

"All active and passive emissions are secured.  We are now blind, and silent."

Carradan clenched his teeth, and squeezed his eyes shut, murmuring fervently under his breath as he did so.

"This is the *last* time I volunteer to be bait.  The *last* time."

The ship rocked violently, and a bedlam of noise pierced the hull, filling the bridge with a roar akin to that of a firestorm.  For a moment, Lantry firmly believed the armor had been breached, and that the ship was imploding.

Miraculously, however, the North Carolina settled.  Stan opened one eye and perked his ears just in time to hear the LADAR officer's report.

"Miss!  All torpedoes struck the decoy craft!  Other munitions went off by proximity detonation, best estimate two thousand yards to starboard!"

The comms officer peered into his scope, then leaned back, looking visibly relieved.

"Damage reports indicate nothing worse than minor structural rippling.  No serious casualties."

The TAO narrowed his eyes, and pointed directly ahead with one finger.

"Half thrust, bring us up and around in a wide spiral.  Put all weapon crews on deck and place targeting systems in passive-standby.  I want every ounce of firepower we have loaded, and ready for bear."





"GIVE ME A STATUS REPORT!  NOW!!"

Minos pierced the main bank of windows with a hateful expression, as if the pure force of his vitriol would force Agincourt's weapons to strike their target with added lethality.

The ship's executive officer moved to stand behind the LADAR operator, quickly perusing the information streaming across the panel.  He turned, and nodded slowly to Minos.

"Telemetry confirms detonations, and the North Carolina's signature is no longer present.  Total kill is the most likely scenario, with mission-kill an absolute given."

The ECM operator leaned in towards one of her scopes, then nodded slowly.

"Frequency rotation complete.  The Retribution, and the platform, are operating blind."

The LADAR operator shook his head, and gestured towards his screen.

"There is definitely something else down there, sirs."

Minos, the ship's Captain, and the executive officer, all leaned in around the display panel, as the LADAR operator pointed towards a series of indicator symbols.

"It's a small, fast moving object, with a large trailing heat signature.  If it were any smaller I'd say it was a stray torpedo, but it looks to be much larger than that, relatively speaking."

Minos narrowed his eyes, and stabbed his index finger towards the object's LADAR track, before turning to stare out the front window bank once more.

"It's an aircraft.  And it just became our primary target.  Reallocate all tracking AI, and spin up missile tubes.  Launch everything we have left in the torpedo racks and toss the remaining depth charges for good measure!"

Minos crossed his arms, and grit his teeth, muttering darkly under his breath as a sheet of rain swept across the front of the ship, heralding the arrival of an enormous thunderhead.

"Not this time my fine feathered friend.  You've over-reached, and I'm going to make you suffer for it."





"At this point, they must have acquired us."

Fyrenn nodded, and inhaled deeply, tapping the rudder pedals lightly to adjust his course by a nearly imperceptible margin.  He glanced at Neyla's troubled expression in his bank of mirrors, then fixed his eyes on the murky blue-green expanse beyond the canopy.

"Probably.  But we have to push it to the last possible second.  We can't afford to waste LOX, not even two second's worth."

Neyla shook her head slowly, and ruffled her wings slightly to relieve some of the pressure on her shoulders.

"You're suggesting that we simply guess?  This deep underwater the stripped down electronics package won't be able to reliably warn us that we've been fired upon."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and flexed his right claw around the control column, loosening the knuckle joints.

"I never once said this was a perfect plan.  Some things you just have to make up as you go."

He grinned slightly, and rolled his shoulders to reseat his wings against the cushion pads, as he finished the thought.

"And wasn't it you that said 'The Hunt is nine tenths instinct?' "

Neyla inclined her head, then sighed and settled her gaze on the inscrutable depths of the ocean.  The passage of the water outside was punctuated only by the streamers of bubbles issuing forth from the sides of the supercavitation pocket.  After several moments, the Gryphoness spoke once more.

"It may be true that subtlety isn't one of your strengths...  But perhaps that works in our favor.  And to be honest, I wouldn't change it if I could."

Fyrenn kept his eyes riveted to the canopy, but allowed himself a slight smile as he responded.

"Just think of all the nifty free rides you've gotten as a result.  Who doesn't enjoy being able to brag about driving a tank down main street?"

Neyla snorted, and grinned.

"Well, never let it be said we passed up an opportunity to scrape the paint off expensive military hardware."

The red Gryphon's smile widened, and he chuckled quietly.

"Think of it as an investment.  Great yarns we can tell our grandkids around the hearth in another couple-hundred years or so."

The Gryphoness' eyes brightened noticeably, but before she could open her beak, Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and he rammed the stick to the right.  The SeaHawk's vectored thrust deformed the air pocket encasing it, altering its trajectory substantially.

The G-meter spiked into the mid sixties as the craft rolled right, and a trail of gasses and bubbles shot past a mere fifteen inches from the canopy.

"We're in the soup now!  Lean out the LOX injection ratio as far as it will go without inducing cutoff!  This will be about as close as we can push it!"

As Neyla carefully adjusted the LOX to fuel ratio, Fyrenn pushed the SeaHawk into a series of tight, dizzying spins and loops.  The aircraft shook violently as a depth charge detonated a mere three hundred yards behind.  The pressure wave threatened momentarily to collapse the super cavitation bubble, and Fyrenn briefly wondered exactly how many giblets he and Neyla would be shredded into by the force of the deceleration.

"Go full lean!"

The Gryphoness shook her head, and winced as Fyrenn performed a particularly harsh barrel roll to avoid an inbound torpedo.

"We're already thirty percent below the rated redline!"

Fyrenn grit his beak, and tightened his grip on both the control stick, and the throttle.  He juked the rudder pedals briefly before reiterating his point.

"Doesn't matter!  We're down to fumes with the oxidizer, go full lean now!  Bare minimum!"

He pulled the throttle back to the fifty percent mark as Neyla swiftly tweaked the appropriate sliders on her panel.  Her eyes widened, and she exhaled sharply as she noticed the distinct decrease of the engine noise.

"I hesitate to even ask."

Fyrenn flattened his ears, and began massaging the stick and rudder pedals to generate a series of somewhat gentler, less fuel-intense maneuvers.

"I'm counting on our existing momentum, and our natural buoyancy.  We can't afford to hit the surface below a certain speed, or we'll fail to go airborne.  If we starve the engines before that point, we'll be doubly screwed.  We have to nail the switch to external air the first time.  No do-overs."

The red Gryphon winced, and flexed his left claw in preparation for a carefully timed burst of acceleration.  He made eye contact with Neyla for the briefest of moments, before speaking once more.

"Talon on the switch.  Don't wait for my signal.  The second the inlets are open, I'm going to push to afterburn.  We'll pull some very, very harsh negative Gs, and then we'll be all of twenty feet off the deck until the last possible second."

Neyla nodded, and placed one claw firmly on the panel responsible for engine inlet controls.  The cockpit grew slightly lighter as the distance to the surface became short enough for light to seep down.

Fyrenn grit his beak once more, and inhaled deeply.

"Alright.  Let's quit this submarine crap, and go flying."
> Chapter 60
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"Can you train optics?"

Mr. Utah put the monocular back up to his right eye, and swept the horizon angrily.  The chief gunner, strapped into the operator's chair eight feet above, shook his head emphatically, eyes plastered to his own high-mag scope.

The man was forced to shout loudly to make himself heard over the lashing force of the wind, and the rain, as the storm broke upon the platform in unending waves of nature's fury.

"Negative sir! The squall has reduced visibility to nil.  We can't even spot the Agincourt for manual targeting, let alone the auto-recog program.  She's low profile, and those are fifteen foot swells under zero-vis clouds with at least an inch an hour of rain coming down.  We're lucky to be able to see our own asses through infrared scopes."

Mr. Utah glowered, and turned to see that his attaché had arrived with the items he requested.  He relieved the confused man of the lightweight armor vest, slipping quickly into the kevlar plates, and cinching them down firmly.

He pressed the small tactical wrist computer into place, and fiddled with the straps momentarily to keep it from riding high on his arm.  Finally, he accepted the rail-pistol from the man, and checked that the safety was on.

Mr. Utah gestured to an officer manning a signal light.

"Relay to Retribution;  Proceed grid ten-twelve, attack and destroy ALL contacts.  No quarter.  No prisoners."

The officer nodded, and began flashing the ten million lumen signal light in rapid fire Morse code.  After a moment of silence, a series of similar flashes emanated from the distant silhouette of the submarine's conning tower.

"Retribution responds sir;  Grid ten-twelve acknowledged.  Kill order on all ships in the AO, acknowledged."

Mr. Utah nodded to himself, then cupped his hands and shouted back up at the gun carriage operator.  The sound reflected back off the immense curved side of the mobile assault RAC, barely reaching the officer's ears before the wind snatched it away.

"Set CIWS to fast-tracking infrared multitasking mode!"

The man obediently began tapping at his thick weatherproofed operations panel, but squinted down, and shouted back a curious reply.

"Why?!  What are we expecting?!"

Mr. Utah glowered as he turned sharply on one heel, and began striding back towards the central catwalk.  He holstered his pistol, and double checked the ammunition count, before cycling the capacitor to active mode.

"Company.  See to it that they're escorted from the premises as red confetti.  You need to hold out for at least another twenty minutes."





The SeaHawk punched through to the surface with a sound akin to a thunderclap.  The super cavitation bubble surrounding the aircraft expanded rapidly as it came into contact with the lower density environ of the atmosphere, generating a strong pressure wave for a brief moment.

Neyla had practically begun to flick the inlet-open toggle the moment the tip of the jet's nose broke through the waves.  By the time the engines had cleared the water fully, the forward intakes were completely open, and operational.

The fighter rocked sharply, and the engines coughed loudly as they dipped perilously close to auto-cutoff.  To the Gryphons' immense relief, the twin turbines caught once more a half second later, solidifying the switch to external air.

Fyrenn twisted the stick hard right, and slammed one paw into the right rudder pedal.  The SeaHawk juked down and right, cutting perilously close to a pair of swells and rocking violently in a crosswind.  Both Gryphons were forced up against their safety harnesses by G-forces that would have instantly reduced a Human brain to an unrecognizable pulpy mass.

The red Gryphon grit his beak, tensed his shoulders, and rammed the throttle home into the afterburn position.  The jet rocked like a bucking bronco, and shot away as if it had been expelled from a railgun.

Within a matter of seconds, the violent storm winds, and harsh rainfall, were reduced to little more than barely-visible streaks on the cockpit plexiglass.  The tossing and bucking settled into a relatively calm, steady vibration.  After another moment, the moisture around the SeaHawk deformed sharply into a conical shape.

Fyrenn grinned predatorily, and inclined his head briefly towards the central instrument panel.

"Mach one.  Twenty two feet off sea-level.  And boy heck is it raining out there."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and craned her head to the right to watch the waves pass by underneath.  She had to concentrate to keep them from being reduced to a blue-gray blur of motion.

"So this is what it's like for a Pegasus?"

The red Gryphon inclined his head, and his grin widened.

"Not quite as fast on Earth, but much faster in Equestria, to hear them tell it.  But they couldn't make a snap-turn to save their lives at those velocities.  This thing will corner in less than half a mile at this speed.  Mind you that would kill any of the pilots who regularly fly this bird...  But you and I have a bunch of wonderful high-G, multi-stage-pressure adaptations to our blood vessels, and organs."

Fyrenn glanced down at his panel once more, and pushed the stick slightly to the right.

"Best guess from the torpedoes;  Agincourt will be about twenty seconds in this direction.  We'll know sooner than that though.  Mach two point three...  Coming off afterburn now."

As the Gryphon pulled the throttle back to the one hundred percent mark, Neyla opened her beak to ask after the meaning of his ominous statement.  She was immediately interrupted by a piercing warning tone, and a bevy of red lights on her display.

Her eyes narrowed, and she grunted.

"We've been acquired.  Four high velocity anti-aircraft missiles.  Closing at-speed."

Fyrenn nodded, and glanced up at the Gryphoness in his rearview mirror.

"We've got two chaff ropes.  Arm the first and dump it as soon as I break hard left.  We'll go into a tight spin, and when we come out of it we're gonna be right on top of them.  I'll tap the airbrakes for the absolute smallest fraction of time possible, and our wings will be level.  That means you've got about a two-tenths-of-a-second window to light these suckers up.  Ready?"

Neyla nodded sharply, placing her right claw on her own control stick, and her left over the chaff-release lever.  The warning tone in the pair's headsets intensified to almost unbearable levels.

At the last possible moment, Fyrenn wrenched the stick as far left as it would go, simultaneously depressing the left rudder pedal slightly to impart yaw forces.

The SeaHawk groaned almost imperceptibly as the airframe was taxed to a point approaching its do-not-exceed limit.  Neyla glanced towards the relative 'up' direction, and saw two warheads streak past mere inches away from the canopy, framed sharply in relief against the backdrop of the sea.

The weapons were so close, the Gryphoness could count the rivets, and pick out microscopic manufacturing imperfections in the nose-cones.  As the SeaHawk came level once more, and began to twist into another roll, Neyla released the chaff rope.

The length of det-cord flew out of a rear stealth-fared housing, and immediately split into a series of angel-wing patterned charges.  Each charge lit off with a magnesium strip, immediately drawing the heat-seeking warheads as they pulled into a tight tracking turn.

Both warheads exploded two seconds later as their shock-triggered detonator tips slammed into what remained of the heavy det-cord.

The SeaHawk once again pulled into level flight for the briefest of moments.  Neyla watched in fascination, slowing her temporal perceptions to a crawl as the Agincourt came into view, filling the front of the canopy.

Fyrenn pulled back on the stick slightly, aiming to pass above the ship's bridge with mere inches to spare between the lower inlet housing of the jet, and the armored plating of the ship.  Neyla glowered, her sneer a mix of anger, and satisfaction, as she pulled the trigger.

Both home-brewed 'dazzle canisters' fell off the wing hardpoints, and tumbled forward, propelled by momentum, and jetwash.

The fighter whipped over the top of the Agincourt, and pulled away into a wide right turn under the impetus of Fyrenn's expert guidance.  The canisters exploded a half-second later as their timers expired.

The grim darkness of the storm abruptly transformed into a light brighter than pure daylight as hundreds of cluster charges broke free, and erupted, spewing their white phosphorous payload across a two square mile area of sky.

The dazzlingly burning substance was mixed with two dozen small EMP charges per canister, and a quarter ton of assorted metallic shavings.  Fyrenn grinned as he applied afterburners once more, and brought the jet into a climb towards the nearest cloud.

"Right outta the park.  Home run!"





Minos was lucky enough to be staring into a LADAR scope when the canisters detonated.  As a result, his eyes were spared.  Nearly half the bridge crew had been looking directly through, or towards the front window bank, however.

Those who hadn't been blinded by the phosphorous daisy chains were mangled as the plexiglass panels crumpled from the jet's supersonic shockwave.  The craft had passed within inches of the ship, bringing the worst of its backwash to bear with horrifically lethal force.

Anyone standing within ten feet of the forward windows had died instantly, their heads obliterated by plexiglass shards moving at nearly Mach one.  Everyone who had been spared that fate had either lost the entire front half of their face, or had been permanently retinally seared from seeing the phosphorous chains head-on.

Under normal circumstances the bridge's windows would have tinted fast enough to reduce the effects to temporary blindness at worst.  Instead, the bridge of the Agincourt had been completely devastated by the attack.

Rain and wind poured in through the rupture in the front of the compartment, adding to the screams of the living, the cacophony of system-critical alarms, and the ringing in everyone's ears.

Minos kept his eyes firmly shut, until he felt a hand on his shoulder.  A moment later, an object was pressed into his right hand.  Awkwardly, and carefully, he maneuvered his face from the static-laden screen of the LADAR scope, into the safety of a tactical helmet.

The auto-tinting visor blocked out the majority of the light and heat still emanating from the phosphorous chains, as well as the swirling shards of plexiglass, the wind, and the rain.

Minos turned to see the officer who had helped him passing out helmets to any other bridge crew who could still see.  A few moments later, the comms officer managed to find the manual override for the frontal blast shields.

The immense metal panels mercifully shut out not only the weather, but all light from outside.  The damaged holo emitters tucked into the edges of the window frames somehow managed to summon a fritzing, half-coherent tactical display in place of the window's usual vista.

Minos grit his teeth, and turned his head away as he noticed the ship's captain, and the admiral, lying in pools of blood and unspeakably mangled tissue.  His face contorted for several moments in rage, before his fury finally burst forth on the executive officer.

"WHAT THE HELL JUST HAPPENED?!  YOU TELL ME WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!! I WANT A FULL STATUS REPORT!!"

The man tried to open his mouth to respond, but Minos crossed the bridge swiftly, boots crunching against shards of plexiglass.  His soaked hair was littered with miniscule pieces of glass dust, and plastered to the sides of his head, giving him a wild, almost insane aspect.

He rammed his index finger into the man's chest, keeping his volume so elevated, that it shook the nearest consoles.  

"THEN I WANT THAT *DAMN* THING BLOWN THE HELL OUT OF THE SKY!!! DO YOU HEAR ME?! KILL THAT RED GRYPHON!"

A woman tending to one of the injured peeled off, and slid into the dead LADAR operators seat.  After a moment, she shook her head emphatically, and threw up her hands.

"Its no use sir!  Computerized-optics are permanently fried.  LADAR and all autonomous fire control systems are confused by the chaff, Infrared can't get past the phosphorous.  We're down to SONAR, and manual visual targeting only.  Radio effectiveness has also been severely reduced."

The officer who had first rescued Minos shook his head, removing his helmet gingerly and wincing as he took in the damage to the bridge once more.

"Multiple decks report severe casualties.  At least thirteen are dead counting the fatalities here, and about ten more are permanently blinded.  We're down to less than half-crew as of now, and we're technically below minimum operating numbers if you factor in the injured."

Minos snapped his head around to pierce the officer with his gaze.  His voice dropped to a dangerously low tone, and his eyes narrowed sharply as he ripped off his own helmet.

"Injured?  No.  There are no injured!  You put everyone who can move back on a duty post."

The LADAR officer shook her head, and sighed.

"Sir, we are *mission killed!*  We could hardly reliably target a supercarrier if it was forty feet off our bow!  The Retribution is now unaccounted for, and at least one Earthgov ship is still out there, waiting for an opportunity!  We have to withdraw if we..."

Minos snatched the woman by her collar, physically hauling her from her seat in a vicious chokehold.  His eyes bugged out of his head as if he were about to burst a blood vessel, and his voice rose to ear-splitting volume once more.

"WE ARE NOT MISSION-KILLED!  YOU GET EVERYONE WHO CAN MOVE ON A DUTY STATION, AND YOU *SHOOT* THE REST!  Throw their BODIES into the ENGINE WAKE, and get back to your own POST!  WE ARE FINISHING THIS RIGHT HERE, AND RIGHT FUCKING NOW!"

Minos pulled the woman's face close, tightening one hand around her throat until the bones squealed softly in protest.

"UNDERSTOOD?!"

At last, for a moment, a stark silence fell across the bridge.  The woman nodded feebly, and after a few more tense seconds, Minos allowed her to drop to the floor.  He swung around to the executive officer, and jabbed an index finger at the man's chest once more.

"Put everyone back at battle condition one.  *Now.*  Get every single weapon on this ship ready, including carbines and small arms.  Pull everyone who's range-qualified and get them to the aft water garage in ten minutes."

Minos scratched at the back of his head, and began pacing feverishly.

"Tie every hertz of processor power we have into the central systems AI.  If we can't use the server racks for precise multi-missile targeting, then reallocate them to fill in for missing crew duty stations.  Engine subsystems.  Course correction and nav.  Sensors.  Work with me people, use your brains."

Minos swung around and jabbed a finger at the young man occupying the helm station.

"Come hard left and accelerate to one third."

Without waiting for a response he turned to the LADAR officer, his eyes narrowing as she rubbed at her throat.

"Flash transmission for the Lancets;  Tell them to hunt that fighter down, and blow it away, even if they have to ram the son-of-a-bitch out of the sky, you hear me?  Transmit that EXACTLY!  And you tell them that if they come back with a zero-kill report, that we'll splash them before they can even request a landing pad!"

Minos paused, and rubbed at his face, then furrowed his brow.

"And someone get those bodies out of here.  They're wasting floorspace."

The rescue officer crossed his arms, and raised an eyebrow.

"What am I supposed to do once I have able bodies in the water garage?"

Minos gestured to the ceiling with both hands, as if the answer were incredibly obvious.  His tone matched his condescending, disgusted expression.

"You get your ass out there in the hydrofoil, and wait for whoever is coming for us!  When they get here?  You catch them from behind, get onboard, and fill them with demolition charges.  Blow their ship sky-high."

The officer blanched, and his eyes widened.

"In THESE conditions? We'll be lucky to survive that long!"

Minos glowered, and raised an eyebrow.

"The storm will also provide ample cover.  We're blind, but so are they.  They'll be so preoccupied with us that you'll be able to get aboard before they even know you exist.  Now HAUL!  Get the lead out!  Chop chop!  We're on the *clock!*"





"SIR!  We just saw a MAJOR event on all passive sensing pallets.  It looks like something went up, and went up *big,* topside."

The Columbia's captain pushed aside a bundle of hanging wires, and bent low over his LADAR officer's station.  The bridge's lighting was unusually dim, given that half of the illuminator strips had been taken out by the fire.

The woman paused, and pursed her lips, before glancing up at her XO.

"What's the ship's condition?  Are we battle ready?"

The man snorted, and shook his head slowly, crossing his arms and exhaling slowly.

"Not hardly."

He paused, and wiped a grime smear off his face, before continuing.  As he spoke, he cast his eyes around what was left of the bridge, wincing reflexively as the extent of the damage hit home.

"Half the consoles in here don't work.  CIC is gone, and most of the personnel down there went with it.  Half our powerplant is in SCRAM mode and the other half is barely holding on.  We lost the starboard fore torpedo racks, and two of our VLS tubes.  Show me one subsystem that works, I'll show you five that were on fire ten minutes ago."

The Captain paused, hands welded firmly to her hips, eyes narrowed as her thoughts raced.  She inhaled, and tilted her head, brushing a lock of hair out of her eye as she did so.

"How are we doing structurally?"

The XO waggled his head back and forth, then gestured to one of the few functional upright screens in the compartment.

"I have news, and I have bad news.  Which would you like first?"





"Hydrofoil says they're barely holding on sir.  It's been almost five minutes and they've nearly capsized twice."

Minos raised an eyebrow, and sighed.  He bent over the bridge's central holotank, and peered down at the small flickering triangular icon representing the SWCC boat.

"Point the aft deck-gun at them.  That should put their risks in perspective."

Before anyone could object, or move to carry out the command, the LADAR officer blanched, and swiveled abruptly in her seat as a series of soft insistent alarms issued from her panel.

"I have a displacement reading beneath us!  Super-capital tonnage!"

Minos turned, and drew breath to request more information.  Before he could expel the words, the Agincourt rocked violently to the side, momentarily listing almost twenty degrees to starboard as the sea heaved under her port side.

The ship slid down the wave for a moment, then rocked back in the opposite direction.  A series of insistent alarms once again blared, indicating the foredeck had been momentarily swamped.

The helmsman's eyes widened as he peered through his tinted scope, and his skin blanched white as snow.  Alarms went wild through the intercom system, and the compartment's lighting plunged into alert status.

The young officer winced at the petrifying image in his scope, and pulled back reflexively.

"HOLY F---"





"FIRE!!!"

The weapons officer nodded, and grinned down at his station, cupping his mic close to his lips.

"Fire!  Fire!  All batteries, all tracks!"

Lantry grimaced as the deck pitched from a forty five degree upwards angle, down to a more reasonable level, then further into a dip.  The ship rocked as if it had been cast into an enormous blender as breaching forces pushed and pulled the hull in multiple contradictory directions simultaneously.

The TAO grit his teeth as the load bearing braces groaned yet again, and shook his head.  He jerked his thumb at the Agincourt, which lay no more than thirteen meters to the North Carolina's starboard, at a parallel angle.

The enemy vessel was still half swamped from the displacement the Battleship had generated upon surfacing.

"Somebody is about to have a REALLY bad day."

As if to underscore his words, the North Carolina lurched sharply as blowback forces reflected off her target, and pushed her away, deforming some of her more battered armor belts slightly in the process.

The roar of the main battery was nearly unbearable in spite of all the noise-damping shield material, mainly as a result of the battleship's unsafe proximity to her target.

The windows were mercifully already blast-shielded, but the computer composite holoscreen images told the story of the cacophony outside in high fidelity nonetheless.  The images were illuminated as if under stadium lighting, mostly via the still-conflagrated remains of the dazzle canisters.

North Carolina's first volley struck home directly in the center of Agincourt's hull.  The space between the two ships momentarily vanished in a withering cloud of muzzle gases, and explosive impact blowback.

Shards of the enemy ship's hull flew outwards in all directions, to the point that some even buried themselves harmlessly, but tellingly in the outer layers of the Battleship's decking.

Parts of Agincourt's hull peeled away like the remains of a candy wrapper caught in a hurricane.  Bodies, slivers of structural beams, armor plates, and even pieces of warheads flew away in all directions, tumbling into a disgusting slick of blood, coolant, and propellant on the surface of the sea.

The Arsenal ship's deck guns immediately came to bear, peppering the most vulnerable portions of the Battleship's island with a stream of relatively low-impact, but high-volume fire.

The ominous roll of thunder mixed with the roar of weapons fire, to the point that any sort of single sound was utterly indistinguishable.  For both crews, even those secreted away in the deepest portions of the vessels' engine rooms, the world was nothing but an unceasing merciless roar of weapons fire, impacts, explosions, and container breaches, akin to the arrival of a supertornado.

Agincourt's crew rapidly forced the ship's reactor into emergency meltdown mode, willing every last erg of available energy into the vessel's twin magnetohydrodynamic thruster banks.  The Arsenal ship took off at a breakneck pace, slicing into the water like an angry shark as she desperately maneuvered to get under North Carolina's guns.

Smoke and fire billowed from a thirty foot by fifty foot gash in the side of the ship, and sea water poured in, hampering the Agincourt's theoretical top speed.

As North Carolina brought her athwartships thruster banks online, the Arsenal ship began to dispatch her missiles blindly, without clear targeting data, relying on proximity, and each warhead's built-in guidance system, to guarantee hits.

The Battleship responded with her own missiles, and within ten seconds, the sky was an opaque writhing mass of contrails.  Smoke from fires, engine exhaust, and muzzle dispersion engulfed both ships in an ever-expanding cloud that looked like nothing so much as a sick, plague laden fog.

At point blank range, neither ship could hope to shoot down even half the missiles they had fired on each other.  The majority of the warheads failed to even find a target, but those that did were rarely intercepted by either vessel's defense guns.

That didn't stop either crew from pushing the CIWS systems well beyond their rated limits.  Within thirty seconds, the barrels of the weapons had begun to deform.  The pandemonium caused by proximity heavy weapons fire, the dazzle canisters, and the ECM blanket resulted in several misfires, causing friendly missiles to strike their own craft after reaching the apex of their arc.

Inside a minute, both ships were burning in a minimum of four locations.  North Carolina lost her rear aircraft receiving decks instantly to a devastating missile barrage.  Agincourt's forward deck gun, and the majority of her bow, disintegrated seconds later, as the Battleship trained all three of her main turrets directly on the fore-deck.

The arsenal ship rocked, and listed sharply to port as her hydrodynamic profile was suddenly reduced from a sleek tumblehome arrowhead, to a ragged water-filled series of uneven breached chambers.

In turn, Agincourt released another devastating flurry of warheads, followed by her last torpedoes and mines.

North Carolina's starboard outrigger finally gave in to the immense pressures that had befallen the ship over the course of the day.  In one violent instant, the entire structure sheared off, taking forty crewmembers, two gimbal guns, and several anti-missile emplacements to the seabed with it.

The explosion cascaded inwards, rupturing a dozen coolant lines, killing five more, and shutting down all power to the starboard main engine bank.

Both ships continued to circle as swiftly as they could in their crippled states, matching the other blow for blow, and desperately seeking a foothold to pull ahead in the battle of pure, unmitigated, vicious attrition.





The trooper winced as his hand was nearly smashed between the hull of the hydrofoil, and the side of the ship.  Incredibly, he managed to withdraw his armored fist just before the two metal surfaces clashed, forced together by an unusually large swell.

Rain pelted the man's helmet and shoulders as he finally achieved purchase on the ladder, and managed to scramble up to the remainder of his squad on the burning wreckage of the fantail.

The fifteen boarders surveyed the cratered deck with critical, predatory gazes.  The sergeant in charge motioned silently towards the nearest access door to the island structure.  As he pressed forward, carbine leveled into the blinding, sheeting rain, his team fanned out around him in perfect synchronization.

Their boots clanged softly against the deck plating, sloshing through puddles as they passed over a series of scorched landing indicator stripes, and a designation marking.

'FBB-55: North Carolina.'
> Chapter 61
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"I don't want to hear any arguments on this!  They need every sea-qualified officer here, and I'm fully proficient with a carbine!"

Lantry's brow furrowed as he worked to cinch down gray armored gauntlets on first his left wrist, then his right.  The armory shook violently as an enemy missile struck the hull nearby.  The General was forced to lean momentarily against Varan to avoid being thrown to the other end of the compartment.

The golden Gryphon helped set the man back on an even keel, then pressed a helmet firmly into his hands.  Varan's response came with his usual dispassionate calm.

"We have no arguments to voice."

Kephic smirked as he checked the cartridge feed on his RAC, raising an eyebrow as he spoke.

"We do things differently.  It is not only common, but essentially required, that our military leaders fight at the sharp point of the wedge."

From his position in the hatchway, Carradan let out a snort.

"You guys are all kinds of crazy though.  I'm not sure anyone else should be emulating you."

Skye chuckled, and tossed her mane.

"They're too stubborn to die.  That's how they get away with it."

Stan nodded, then narrowed his eyes, bracing himself reflexively with one wing as the ship rocked under fire once more.

"So...  Where's your fourth man?"

The Pegasus brought his gaze to rest on Skye, who bore an expression equal parts apprehension, guilt, and determination.

Carradan groaned, and shook his head emphatically.

"Not you too!  Geez sister...  You're gonna leave me here all by my lonesome to ride this out?  Haven't you already cheated ol' grim once?  This is just pushing it...  They don't even stock armor that'll fit you!"

Skye's horn lit up, and she gently accepted a kevlar harness-like structure from Varan, engulfing it in her ethereal grip.  As she carefully stepped into the improvised system of cinches and clasps, Kephic deftly helped her attach small protective plates near the joint of her neck, her heart, and the most vulnerable portions of her sides.

Lantry bent down to hand the Unicorn a rail-pistol, which she telekinetically loaded, and holstered as she finally managed to phrase a response.

"This situation has a lot of nasty 'ifs' and 'maybes' in it.  I think having a technical expert there to take some of those out of the equation gives everyone a better shot at getting out of this in one piece."

Skye paused, then swiftly pulled Stan into a quick hug with her neck, and front hooves.  As the Pegasus fought back tears of anxiety, and confusion, the Unicorn smiled, and delivered a friendly punch to his side.

"I've been thrown out of a window, shot at by a cybernetic death-squad...  And I've spent major chunks of the last three years living with the smell of your halitosis.  If none of that killed me, then I'm not convinced this little excursion poses much of a risk."

Carradan sighed, and fought valiantly to contain his emotions.  He did his best to stiffen his expression, and nodded slowly.

"Fine."

The Pegasus turned to direct a potent glare up at Kephic, then Lantry, and finally Varan in turn.  Both Gryphons, and the General exchanged brief glanced with Stan as they passed out laser target designator attachments for their rifles, and fist-sized target acquisition beacons with similar functionality.

"You bring her back safe.  Or else I will plaster you all to the bottom of this toy boat, and drag you from here to Tierra Del Fuego."

Kephic offered the Pegasus a melancholy smile as the group filed out of the armory, and laid a comforting claw on his back momentarily.

"That's the spirit.  Hold down the 'toy boat,' and make sure they have something hot and delicious waiting for us when we get back.  Incase you hadn't noticed, it's raining outside."





"I feel like I'm going to regret this decision!"

Skye had to shout to make herself heard as the port side water garage door fell away, allowing the auditory assault of the battle, and the weather, to enter unimpeded.

Kephic shook his head, and snorted.  He carefully secured his RAC between his wings, then gestured for Lantry to stand in front of him.  As he scooped the General into an underslung carry position, he raised an eyebrow.

"We're about to fly out into what amounts to a solid wall of debris, shrapnel, and weapons fire!  You won't have time to regret anything if we slip up!"

Varan moved up behind the Unicorn, and pulled her into a similarly protected carry position with his front claws.  As he spread his wings, and scanned the sight beyond the garage with his gaze, he allowed a response to rumble forth from his chest.

"He has such a comforting way with words, does he not?"

Before Skye could completely process the deadpan witticism, Varan brought his wings down and back with colossal force.  The two Gryphons, with their precious cargo carefully secured, shot away from the side of the North Carolina with all the speed their muscles could produce.

Rain, wind, sound, and heat assailed all four members of the group as they passed through the outer layers of the battle.  Skye lacked a helmet, and found herself forced to close her eyes against the deluge.

Lantry had headgear, but found himself reflexively closing his eyes regardless, as warheads and chaff bursts exploded only meters away to either side.

Kephic and Varan were considerably less hindered.  Ears flattened to shut out the din, and eyes wide open thanks to adaptations designed to permit bad-weather flight, the two Gryphons swerved, rolled, and dived expertly to avoid being impaled by weapons fire.

Skye grit her teeth, and did her best to avoid the temptation to open her eyes.  Lantry quickly focused the entirety of his concentration on breathing exercises, fighting to constrain a merciless bout of motion sickness.

Slowly, but steadily, the sound of the battle fell away to the rear.  The moment the Gryphons were clear of the fire zone, they pulled into a tight one hundred and seventy degree turn, making a beeline for the best guess as to the platform's general direction.

The Unicorn blinked her eyes open briefly, and shouted up at Varan.

"NEXT TIME, I WANT A FREE UPGRADE!  TO FIRST CLASS!"





"We are being pursued."

Neyla's tone was completely calm, though her expression betrayed a well controlled sense of urgency.  Fyrenn cast a glance back over his shoulder, and caught sight of the telltale dull gray glint that had attracted the Gryphoness' attention.

He nodded, pulling the stick back to shed speed, trading it rapidly for altitude.  As the SeaHawk was engulfed by an angry black thunderhead, he raised an eyebrow, and exhaled slowly.

"Lancets are small.  Smaller than a Scythe by maybe fifteen percent, mass-wise, but equipped with a nearly identical power plant.  They can match us for speed, and they have a major advantage in straight-line acceleration and climb rate. They're all but impossible to hit with guns for most pilots;  Minimal profile from the front, rear, and sides.  Excellent stealth angling.  Powerful dually redundant ECM suites."

Neyla narrowed her eyes, and swiveled her head to the other side of the canopy to continue tracking the enemy as she spoke.

"They sound superior to other craft.  Why are they so rarely used?"

Fyrenn leveled out gracefully, and pulled into a wide left bank turn.

"No range to speak of, whatsoever, unless they sacrifice all their missile hardpoints to drop tanks.  They lack armoring, and their max payload weight limits their avionics package, and quality of ordinance.  Totally unsuitable for attacking anything other than ships and other aircraft.  Their gun caliber is half what ours is, and they only carry two thirds as much by way of ammo belts."

The red Gryphon glanced left, and glowered down at the swiftly rising shape of the enemy fighter as he finished the impromptu briefing.

"They're pack hunters.  Best when they outnumber the enemy, and are fighting in the soup, with a support base nearby.  Which is a pretty good description of the current mess we're in."

Neyla grunted, and flattened her ears.

"I can not locate the second one."

Fyrenn nodded, and made a small adjustment to the flaps settings.

"They drew straws, and the guy who lost gets to be the bait plane.  He'll pull up, and in from the side making use of his superior climb power.  Ping us with his gun, and pull above us, trying to bring us into a chase.  When we engage, the second will come in from above and behind, Boom and zoom with a pair of missiles, and scratch one SeaHawk."

Neyla exhaled, and ruffled her wings slightly to put her shoulder joints at ease.  When she spoke, her tone was firm and confident.

"So.  When Lancet one pulls in from the side, you allow him to land glancing hits, and overshoot us.  Pull right into a chase position.  Hold long enough to fire the first salvo, then bank left sharply, transitioning into a full climb-loop.  Brake hard as you exit to level, Lancet two will be in the killbox below and ahead of us, affording a large profile for a solid hit."

Fyrenn smiled, and chuckled, momentarily eyeing Neyla in the rear view mirrors.

"I love it when you speak my language.  I'm routing cannons to your stick;  You have about fifteen degrees of play in the gimbals, and you'll need every last bit, because this is going to get real complicated, real fast.  Your guns."

The red Gryphon flicked two hat switches on his flight stick, and closed the cover over his fire trigger.  Neyla nodded, and opened her trigger cover, placing her right index talon gently over the red plastic nub.

"My guns."

Neyla paused, then chuckled grimly.

"And you wanted to do this for a vocation?"

Fyrenn nodded, and reacquired eye contact with the enemy Lancet.

"Since the day I was born."

The Gryphoness smirked ever so slightly, and raised an eyebrow.

"You really were cut from Gryphic cloth."

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and tensed his shoulders in preparation for maneuvers.

"So they keep telling me."

True to his predictions, the first Lancet came whizzing up through a wisp of cloud to the left side, rain droplets streaking off the edges of its wings into twin vortices of trailing gray distortion.  The moment the craft was in range, a rapid series of flashes appeared under its nose.

Fyrenn carefully followed the incoming rounds, one by one, prepared to juke the SeaHawk if necessary, to prevent the shells from striking weakly armored, or critical areas of the jet.

The SeaHawk rattled, and shook ominously as rounds peppered portions of the left wing, and the front left intake.  In a moment, the hail of incoming rounds ceased, and the Lancet whipped past overhead, pouring on its afterburners momentarily to give the pilot an edge in his head start.

Fyrenn pushed the nose down momentarily, and increased the throttle to one hundred percent abruptly, to compensate for the Lancet's jetwash.  After a half second, he pulled back and right on the stick, simultaneously massaging the rudder pedals in the same direction.

"That's right..."

He murmured quietly as he worked to get a brief angle of fire on the first Lancet.

"Chase the birdie..."

Neyla pulled back on her trigger, carefully and precisely positioning her joystick to bring a brief burst of fire to bear on the Lancet.  As soon as the volley was away, Fyrenn brought his flight stick back and left.

As the red Gryphon pushed down on the left side pedal, he pushed the throttle into the afterburn position to gain climb rate.  The SeaHawk rocketed through an incredibly tight loop, and the G-meter shot into the mid forties.  As the craft came down, around, and began to level, Fyrenn allowed the throttle to fall back automatically from the afterburn slot.

When the fighter came fully level, he rammed his left thumb talon down on the spoilers, and dipped the nose.  True to Neyla's prediction, the second Lancet was just below, and ahead of the SeaHawk.

Fyrenn pushed the stick down further and pulled left into a partial roll.  The Lancet pilot quickly realized he was in trouble.  Neyla's first barrage nearly sheared off his vertical stabilizer.  Smoke erupted from the enemy fighter's right engine as secondary shrapnel damage triggered an internal fire.

The Lancet broke hard to the right.  As the pilot panicked, he threw fuel conservation to the wind, and pushed hard on his left afterburner.  The right engine shut off automatically and flooded the turbine with fire suppressant foam.

Neyla relentlessly continued to follow the enemy craft with her gun track.  Fyrenn rolled right sharply, and began doing his best to keep the Lancet within the range of the SeaHawk's weapon gimbals, once again murmuring to himself.

"Well now it's officially a party."





"What do you suppose the chances are they're expecting us?!"

Skye glanced up at her carrier with a barely restrained expression of concern.  Varan focused his eyes on the closest edge of the platform, and made note of the tracking turret emplacements, which were already revolving into active position.

"Non-zero."

Before the words had even left Varan's beak, the sky erupted in flames.  Streams of tracer rounds streaked out from the edge of the platform, desperately whipping back and forth through the rain in an attempt to acquire the Gryphons.

The golden Gryphon pulled Skye closer to his chest, and tucked into a dizzying roll, while his brother pulled up and away to the right.

For a moment, it seemed like the platform's new armaments would fall short of their task.  Kephic and Varan seemed to be yards ahead of the tracers, no matter how frantically the fire control computers juked the turrets.

The situation changed radically as a dozen Augments appeared from behind the larger gun emplacements.  The moment the Gryphons were within rifle range, the troopers unleashed a devastating secondary hail of rounds.

The Augments maintained incredibly precise attack trajectories.  Alone, either source of fire would have presented a significant challenge, given the sheer volume of bullets.  Together, they represented a lethal threat.

The troopers carefully coordinated their shots with changes in the turret tracks, filling in gaps in the killbox at the last possible moment, to give the Gryphons as little time to compensate as physically possible.

Kephic's task was made marginally easier by Lantry's armor plating.  The presence of the protective material meant that the speckled Gryphon could afford to allow occasional glancing hits from the carbines, as part of maneuvers to avoid straight shots from the turret emplacements.

Varan had no such advantage.  Skye's improvised protective gear had a multitude of weak spots, and even a glancing blow from a RAC round in the wrong spot could leave her with a severe, if not fatal injury.

The golden Gryphon's problem was also one of structural and muscular limitations.  He was more than capable of tracking every incoming round from the moment it left the barrel.  In spite of his incredible flexibility and agility, however, the volume and precision of weapons-fire was starting to tax the ceiling of his physical limitations.  Skye's weight, and drag, only served to exacerbate the issue.

Rain whipped against Varan's face as the platform loomed large in his vision.  He shed altitude violently in order to gain speed, but the act bought him very little in terms of a buffer.

The Augments quickly realized that trying to handle both Gryphons simultaneously was a Sisyphean exercise in frustration, with only one inevitable outcome.  They wordlessly evaluated their two targets, and settled on Varan.  His impairment was imminently visible to them, mostly as a result of their Phase-III ocular sensing implants.

Even through the reflective surface of their faceplates, and sheets of downpour, Varan recognized the telltale small blue slits above their eyes.  They reminded him eerily of Fyrenn's former Human visage.

Despite his close proximity to the platform, the golden Gryphon abruptly found himself unable to fully evade the incoming fire without placing Skye's life in direct jeopardy.  Though several of the auto-turrets were unable to track far enough to work at such close proximity, the Augments were no longer hampered by splitting their attention.

Varan evaluated the incoming rounds, and carefully planned his final rolls, followed by a quick sideslip, to ensure that all impacts would be small arms fire falling on noncritical areas of his own body, and armor.

He tucked into the first roll, then broke sharply in the opposite direction in preparation for two more rolls, and the sideslip.  The first of the impacts pinged harmlessly off his rear haunch plates.

As he entered the final roll, a sudden sharp pain in his right shoulder told him that one of the rounds had ricocheted off his wing guard, lodging itself deep into the muscle cluster.  In spite of the sudden explosion of screaming nerves, the Gryphon did his best to maintain his sideslip.

Varan couldn't access his RAC, given that both claws were occupied ensuring Skye didn't plummet to a watery grave.  Kephic was similarly indisposed, but Lantry had both hands free.  The General unslung his rifle, and began peppering the edge of the platform with wildly indiscriminate fire, paying no mind to aim, nor conservation of ammunition.

Though the man couldn't see much of anything as a result of the driving rain occluding his helmet visor, his tactic had the desired effect.  The Augments were forced to scatter to cover positions, making their lines of fire, in turn, less viable.

Seeing an opportunity, both Gryphons tucked their wings sharply, and stooped down through the outer ring of the platform at full speed.  Though the Augments possessed a similar level of agility and visual acuity, they found it virtually impossible to acquire a sight picture on the speeding avian shapes as they whipped past at nearly one hundred and twenty miles per hour.

The Gryphons tilted slightly, and made for one of the enclosed vertical support buttresses at the opposite side of the structure's outer edge.  Varan winced slightly as pressure on his right shoulder, from the stress on his wing, drove the slug deeper into the muscle.  He braced himself as he prepared to decelerate.  

Kephic pulled ahead, realizing that the aperture the pair were aiming for was barely large enough for one Gryphon, let alone two.  Varan began to flare early, attempting to blunt the damage to his shoulder as much as possible.

The speckled Gryphon passed through the door and flared immediately, stretching his wings out to touch both walls of the chamber.  Lantry grunted in discomfort as the deceleration from one hundred and twenty to zero in two seconds pressed him firmly against the inside of his chestplate.  

Varan was forced to tuck his wings once more, then flare again as he passed into the ladder chamber.  Kephic barely had time to pull to the side.  For his part, Lantry performed a dive-roll into the ladder well itself, barely avoiding the leading edge of Varan's left wing as he came to a painful and unceremonious stop by crashing beak-first into the deck.

Skye slid away across the floor as her protector released his grip, coming to a stop against the soft barrier of Kephic's right wing.  Varan grunted, and regained a standing position, tucking his left wing away, but leaving his right flight appendage extended.

Lantry and Kephic dashed to cover the entryway, while Skye ducked under the leading edge of Varan's wing, and swiftly examined his wound.  Kephic glanced around the edge of the entry hatch, and pulled his RAC from between his shoulders.

"We have two minutes.  At most."

Skye peered up at Varan's injury, and winced reflexively.  She glanced up at the golden Gryphon, and forced a small smile.

"I'm no field surgeon, but that thing has to come out.  I want you to relax the muscle, and hold very, *very* still."

Varan grunted, and raised an eyebrow.  Nevertheless, he knelt and relaxed his right wing and shoulder, muttering to himself grimly.

"Do I have a choice?"

Skye glowered, and shook her head.

"Nope."

The Unicorn allowed tiny, delicate tendrils of her magic field to spill off her horn and into the wound.  For several seconds she carefully probed, constructing a mental image of the slug's location and directional orientation.

The process was fairly simple;  Skye knew that everywhere her thaumatic field could establish purchase represented a fragment of the slug.  She knew she had encountered Varan's tissue when the field abruptly met a null void.  A place where it refused to function in any way, regardless of how much power she poured into it.

She paused, then tightened her thaumatic grip, and yanked hard.  The slug popped loose instantly, causing the wound to begin bleeding profusely.  Varan winced, and slammed his left claw down over the puncture, applying ruthlessly forceful compression to prevent any further blood loss.

"Thank you."

Skye shook her head as she used her teeth to rip a spare cinch from her harness.  As she transferred the kevlar strip to her magic field, and began tightly wrapping it around the wound, the Unicorn snorted.

"I'm pretty sure I should be thanking you.  I suppose we're even now."

Varan raised an eyebrow as he withdrew his claw, allowing Skye to finish applying her makeshift compression patch.

"Even?  Pray tell how you arrived at that conclusion?"

The Unicorn smirked as she finished her task, and stepped back.  As Varan forced himself back into a standing position, Skye winked.

"Well, I did save you, and everyone else, from being trapped inside a collapsing skyscraper."

The golden Gryphon narrowed his eyes, and detached his weapon from its clamp point, doing his best to conceal a grimace of pain in the process.

"If anything, that was the minimum required to break even for deceiving us into believing you had died.  Though I will opt to be generous.  This time."

Skye grinned and rolled her eyes as she telekinetically unholstered her pistol, and switched off the safety.

"Gee.  I appreciate the magnanimous gesture."

Lantry pulled away from his side of the hatch, allowing Varan to take his place.  As both Gryphons peered out into the squall, alert for any sign of movement, the General laid out an action plan in firm, even tones.

"We attracted a lot of attention on the way in.  I'm guessing there's more of them out there than you're comfortable dealing with head-on?"

Kephic nodded curtly, his ears pinning back gradually as he did his best to keep an undercurrent of frustration out of his voice.

"Three, or even four of them wouldn't be an entirely unprecedented fight.  But two dozen?  I don't like to admit it, but I don't fancy those odds.  Especially given that we've already sustained injury."

Varan raised an eyebrow and grit his beak, but remained silent.  Lantry nodded, and gestured to the ladder well.

"You have wings, they don't.  We're not here to secure the platform, so there's no sense in making it a fair fight.  All you have to do is keep them running after you in circles.  Skye and I will reconnoiter the central chamber, plant the beacons, and then we can blow this popsicle stand and go home."

Kephic nodded, and jerked his head towards the ladder well.

"Get going then;  Your head start is down to less than a minute.  And we'd rather have a few spare moments, to make ourselves scarce."

Lantry nodded, and threw off a curt salute.

"Good hunting."

Varan raised an eyebrow, and tightened his grip on his RAC.

"Always."





"Damage control to deck six, bulkhead epsilon two-four!"

Carradan lashed out reflexively with one hoof to protect his head as the ship lurched under fire.  As the explosion's forced dissipated, he regained his balance, and shot up the nearest access ladder.

The Pegasus froze as he gained traction on the deck plating, flaring his wings to bring him to a halt.  The conscious thought processes of his brain took several seconds to evaluate what was transpiring in the corridor before him.

His unconscious instincts kicked into gear far more swiftly, tuned to a razor edge from a multitude of past fight or flight experiences.  

A few meters away, a navy lieutenant was lying face first on the deck, a pool of blood rapidly expanding from a point beneath his left shoulder.

Above him stood a man clad in black unmarked standard issue assault gear.  The soldier had the tip of his rifle pressed against the base of the lieutenant's skull, and was preparing to finish the man off with a merciless shot to the brain stem.

Stan whipped forward on a massive burst of compressed air generated by his wings.  Powered by adrenaline, and urgency, he cannoned into the enemy soldier, using his momentum to force the man backwards at an impossibly high speed.

The Pegasus flared his wings once again to alter his trajectory, and bring him to a safe stop.  The enemy soldier possessed no such biological braking mechanism.  He slammed into a vertical support stanchion with more than enough force to shatter the majority of his spine, in spite of his armor's gel layers.

It took Stan several seconds to mentally review what had transpired, catch his breath, and evaluate his surroundings.  Concern for the downed officer overrode most other thoughts in Carradan's head.  He bent over the lieutenant, and shouted into his left ear.

"HEY!  Can you hear me?!  LIEUTENANT!"

The man groaned, and clutched at his shoulder, trying unsuccessfully to pull himself up into a sitting position.  Stan grunted, and shook his head.

"Oh no you don't.  Not in your condition.  Arms up."

The Lieutenant shifted slightly, and held up his arms as high as he could.  Stan slipped his front hooves under the man's shoulders, pulled into a mostly vertical stance, and back pedaled furiously towards the nearest hatchway, dragging the wounded officer with him.

To his relief, a pair of Ensigns materialized in the gloom, and rushed forward to help cart the wounded lieutenant out of the corridor.

As the two junior officers finished carrying their superior over the knee-knocker, a burst of carbine fire filled the air.  Rounds ricocheted wildly off the paneling by the hatch, forcing Stan to dodge back towards the portal as swiftly as his legs could carry him.

He pushed himself up and over the knee-knockers on the force of a quick burst from his wings.  As the two Ensigns struggled to manually close, and seal the doorway, the Pegasus caught sight of a chilling figure barreling down the companionway at full speed.

The hulking gray form was familiar to Stan, though he was more accustomed to seeing Diamond Dog Trolls clad in the stark white armor of the PER, rather than standard Earthgov black tactical gear.

The two officers barely managed to finish twisting the latching mechanism shut, before the Troll slammed into the door, producing a three inch bulge of a dent with the sheer impact force of his skull.

One of the ensigns blanched, and cross-drew his pistol, stepping cautiously back from the door.  His voice quavered, but his aim stayed true as another impact shook the hatchway frame.

"What *is* that thing?!"

Stan raised an eyebrow, and grunted, forcing out a response as he gasped to regain his breath.

"That's whatcha get when you cross butt-ugly with angry-as-a hornet's nest.  You should sound the intruder alarm."

The other ensign bent over the wounded lieutenant, and began working to stem the flow of blood from the man's shoulder.  She paused in the middle of tying an impromptu bandage, fashioned from her left sleeve, and glanced up at Stan.

"And then what?"

Carradan paused, and wrinkled his brow.  He glanced back and forth between the two Ensigns, noting their fearful and confused expressions.  The male officer had one hand clutched to the side of his headset, and was conversing with someone in low, urgent tones.

"We have intruders aboard!  I say again;  Intruder alert!  Deck four, bulkhead hotel nine-six!  There are non-Humans in the boarding party!  I repeat;  Non-Human intruders aboard!"

Seconds later, an alarm began sounding through the shipwide speaker systems, accompanied by a PA announcement parroting the information the Ensign had relayed.

Stan bit his lower lip, and sighed.  It took him a long moment to fully cope with it, but he suddenly arrived at the realization that both officers before him had likely seen far less action than he had.  A consequence of spending so much time with Gryphons, in his view.

Another insistent, vicious impact against the compartment's hatch jolted the Pegasus into action once again.  He realized time was short, and the situation was his to either make or break.

Carradan narrowed his eyes, and snorted.

"Is there another way out of this compartment?"

The female Ensign nodded, and gestured over her shoulder.

"There's a secondary access passage, but if they've spread out over the surrounding area, then we're hosed no matter what!"

The other Ensign shook his head and ran one hand through his hair nervously, lowering his pistol in the process.

"CIC says that there's almost no one available to do an internal sweep!  If they've got more of those... *Things* out there..."

Another loud impact issued forth from the door, and a rivet popped out of the top left corner.  Carradan jerked his head towards the secondary exit passage.

"Move!  And jimbo?  Watch where ya point that pea-shooter!"

The man nodded as he shouldered the wounded Lieutenant.  He raised an eyebrow as he stepped into the passage, casting a curious glance back at Stan.

"What are we gonna do if they have us surrounded?!"

Carradan grinned wryly, and grit his teeth as he vaulted over the knee-knockers.

"Think like a featherbrain.  Somethin' clever, crazy, and without a single ounce of subtlety."
> Chapter 62
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn grunted as he pushed the SeaHawk into an eleven-G turn to the left.  He hated to admit it to himself, but the Lancet pilots were making excellent use of their superior numbers.

Alone, neither craft had any hope of surviving for more than a few paltry seconds.  The Gryphons could outmaneuver them, and the heavier armor on the SeaHawk could withstand more hits.

In tandem, however, the Lancets could make it exceptionally difficult to achieve even a split second of target lock.  They dodged, weaved, feinted, and generally did their best to prevent Fyrenn and Neyla from ever having a spare moment from evasive maneuvers.  It was becoming progressively more difficult to paint a strong sight-picture.

The entire affair was made even more complicated by the fact that the Gryphons lacked missiles, but the Lancets were operating under no such limitation.

Fyrenn snorted, and rolled reflexively to the right as he realized that his turn had afforded the second Lancet a brief window of viable fire.  As sky and sea repeatedly exchanged places, he realized that the enemy pilots would soon make their final push.

They would be forced to take more definitive action in a matter of moments, largely as a result of their critical fuel state.

Fyrenn inhaled deeply, and flexed his left claw in preparation for a split second transition to afterburners.

"Get ready to dump the second chaff rope."

Neyla barely had time to grunt her acknowledgement, before the cockpit filled with the distinctive and alarming missile-lock warning tone.

The red Gryphon slammed the afterburners home, and dipped the nose slightly, shouting as he leveled out.

"Wait until the last possible second!"

The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow, and jerked her head around to visually track the two Lancets, as both pulled into a chase position.

"What exactly are you going to do?"

Fyrenn smirked, and inclined his head as he swung the SeaHawk to an easterly track.

"Play dead."

He held the throttle firmly in the afterburn position, but made no other attempt at evasive maneuvers.  The SeaHawk quickly went supersonic once again, leaving the Lancets behind in a cloud of contrails, mixed with a hail of raindrops.

Suddenly, the missile lock tone changed to a series of more insistent, timed repeating chirps.  The enemy had fired.  As the warheads closed, the chirps began to slowly, but steadily increase in cadence.

Neyla turned once again to visually identify the threat.

"Six inbound warheads!"

Fyrenn snorted, and raised an eyebrow, keeping his eyes firmly fixed on the sky ahead of him as he spoke.

"So one of them fired off his entire loadout.  Rookie mistake.  That leaves one with nothing but his peashooter, and the other with just two light AAMRAMs."

The Gryphoness whipped her head around to the opposite shoulder, and grunted.

"True.  But we have to survive long enough to make use of that.  And if you call this evasive flying, then you're not as good at this as I thought."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and the Gryphoness shrugged, chuckling grimly as she filled the silence once more.

"What?  You critiqued my driving, so this is only fair."

Fyrenn snorted, and deflected the banter with a curt tone.

"Range, and rate of closure?"

The Gryphoness inhaled slowly, and pierced the far-off missiles with her gaze.  She allowed a few seconds to pass, then made a swift elementary calculation in her head, before responding.

"Five kilometers out, closing at ninety meters per second.  We have just over twenty seconds to impact."

Fyrenn released the throttle and allowed it to fall back out of the afterburn notch.  Neyla's eyes widened, and her tone acquired a sharp critical edge.

"Are you trying to hasten our deaths?!"

The red Gryphon raised an eyebrow, and began running his own basic mathematical calculations.  Through the driving rain, fog, and mist, the glimmering sheen of the Barrier began to materialize in the middle distance.

"No, I'm just making sure the timing is right.  They fired a standard stagger-pattern, so the chaff will only catch, at best, half the warheads.  We have to con the other three into leaving us alone."

He inclined his head, and inhaled deeply as he continued.

"A good con game, like a good joke, is all about the timing...  And if I mis-time this, you'll have all of eternity to yell at me about my hot-dogging."

Fifteen of the twenty two seconds passed in relative silence.  Neyla kept her eyes riveted to the missiles, while Fyrenn engaged in a staring contest with the barrier as it grew to fill the entire front half of the canopy.

What few sensing instruments had been left aboard the SeaHawk lost all functionality as the Agincourt's ECM field combined with the Barrier's naturally disruptive properties.  The missiles continued onwards without faltering, having long since switched from LADAR targeting to heat seeking mode.

As the SeaHawk came perilously close to the barrier, Fyrenn yanked the stick back, and 
poured on the afterburner once more, forcing the jet into a sudden vertical climb.

The missiles began to close in for the kill as the fighter reached the apex of its arc.  Fyrenn pressed the stick forward, and slightly to the right, gently depressing the right rudder pedal to bring the craft into a banking right-turn-dive.

The belly of the SeaHawk came within meters of the Barrier as the plane streaked downwards at nearly the speed of sound.  St. Elmo's fire, and small arcs of lightning whizzed back and forth in the gap between the aircraft's belly, and the charged membrane.

Neyla tensed as the first of the warheads came within mere feet of the SeaHawk's tail.

"FLARES OUT!"

The Gryphoness slammed her right index talon down hard on the chaff trigger.  The SeaHawk vibrated sharply as the first three missiles detonated on the chaff rope, sending several pieces of shrapnel into the tail of the jet, and puncturing the left inboard fuel tank.

In the same millisecond, Fyrenn began a left roll, combined with a hard right-rudder strafing maneuver.

The SeaHawk pulled slightly away from the Barrier, then rolled abruptly back towards it, bringing the glimmering wall to within centimeters of the cockpit canopy.  

In spite of the fact that both Gryphons could pass through unharmed, Fyrenn knew that any direct contact between the jet and the energy wall would cause an immense explosion, which they had no chance whatsoever of surviving.

Fyrenn held the left roll until the craft was on the verge of impact, then slammed the stick as far right, and back as he could, again ramming his back right paw into the corresponding rudder pedal.  He pressed the throttle into the afterburn position one final time, and let off a brief prayer.

The single half-second of time felt like an eternity of stillness.  A living photograph.  The rain, and lightning to the right, the Barrier to the left, and an expanding fireball to the rear, punctuated by the contrails of the remaining missiles.

Fyrenn watched, at first with a roiling sense of tension, which shortly gave way to immense relief.  As the remaining three missiles vanished into an enormous fireball of their own, time snapped back into focus.

Silence reigned for upwards of three seconds as the red Gryphon rolled the SeaHawk over gently, and began climbing into the upper layers of the storm.

At last, Fyrenn broke the silence, grinning as he spoke.

"Dump the left fuel tank and seal the transfer port.  We're leaking."

Neyla shook her head slowly as she bent to handle the appropriate switches.  Her tone was mostly impassive, but Fyrenn thought he detected a strong hint of relief buried deep in the timbre.

"How did you know the other three would hit the Barrier, instead of coming around the other side of the chaff?"

Fyrenn's smirk widened, and the smile leaked into his words in spite of his best efforts to remain modest.

"I started a left roll as the chaff went up.  The missiles lost our heat signature about a twentieth of a second later, as the magnesium strips flared.  The onboard targeting software is stripped down, because it's small ordinance.  So it just makes a basic prediction about our last known speed, heading, and maneuvering state, then tries to jockey for a better kill-trajectory."

The red Gryphon glanced into his rearview mirror with a twinkle in his eye as he continued.

"Everything on those missiles is about mid-range lock and kill algorithms.  So it has no idea that the Barrier is there, in the middle of all that electronic noise.  It thinks we rolled left into an evasive port corkscrew, when in reality we held a centerline course.  So it banks left to cut us off, and Kaboom.  Thirty six million in cold hard appropriations cash goes bye bye..."

Neyla nodded slowly, mirroring Fyrenn's smirk in both expression, and tone, as she finished the thought for him.

"And both Lancet pilots see the explosion residuals on their scopes, assume we went up in flames, and turn around to go home for fuel.  And we hunt them at our leisure."

Fyrenn chuckled, and raised an eyebrow as he levelled off.

"So...  Would you like to go hunting with me?"

Neyla's eyes narrowed, and her smile changed subtly, morphing into a chilling predatory grimace.

"I thought you would never ask."





"Will you be able to make it to a minimum safe distance on that wing?"

Kephic gestured briefly with his RAC towards the general direction of the ocean.  His tone implied that the question was borderline rhetorical.  Kephic had known Varan to cope with far more dangerous injuries in the past.

Varan knew that the question was more an expression of normative familial concern than anything else.

The golden Gryphon nodded curtly, and raised his own weapon, sighting carefully down the iron sights as raindrops cascaded down the side of his beak.  He spoke calmly, almost nonchalantly, as he established a precise lead on his target.

"You needn't be concerned.  Skye may not be medically trained, but she is more than capable of tying an excellent knot.  The bleeding has ceased.  The pain is irrelevant."

Varan calmly squeezed the trigger, and held it to the backstop for nearly four seconds.  He carefully tracked his target as the Augment staggered under the relentless stream of rounds.  Kephic nodded, and chuckled grimly.  He gestured with one claw towards the right of the catwalk, and raised an eyebrow.

The Golden Gryphon nodded, and set off at a measured lope.  Kephic spread his wings, and rose swiftly through the tangle of steel truss-work towards the upper portions of the superstructure.

As Varan made his way down the catwalk, he kept one eye fixed on the platoon of Augments.  The troopers made astonishing progress, vaulting up ladder wells and free-climbing nimbly up external pylons with ease.

Varan carefully timed his maneuvers, in order to ensure that the enemy soldiers would just barely catch sight of his tail tuft as he rounded a support beam.

Predictably, the sight drew the platoon down the length of the catwalk.  The impacts of the troopers boots on the metal plating produced a surprisingly small amount of noise.  Kephic guessed that it had as much to do with their high agility, as their relatively light weight.

The soldiers fanned out to take both sides of the support beam simultaneously, rifles raised in anticipation.  Upon seeing that the remainder of the catwalk was inexplicably empty, the Augments pulled together into a defensive cluster, and began carefully sweeping their surroundings.

Droplets of rain poured down the sleek silvery visors of their helmets as the men and women tried, with a quiet sense of desperation, to reacquire their target.  

Varan kept perfectly still.  The golden Gryphon even opted to hold his breath and slow his heartbeat.  He knew from prior experience with Fyrenn that the Augments' omnidirectional ocular implants were sensitive to even the most minute motions at close range.

From his position several stories up, and forty meters away, Kephic selected his first target, and lined up a shot.  He allowed the tense moment to drag on for several more seconds as he planned his second and third shots, and then a suitable egress route.

At last, he placed his right index talon on the trigger, and squeezed firmly.  His first round shattered one of the Augment's faceplates, revealing the desiccated skin beneath.  The leathery gray tissue was dappled with a softly glowing orange hexagonal pattern, a product of the technology that allowed the soldier to match Gryphic speeds and reflexes.

Kephic's second and third shots failed to connect;  The Augments were already aware of his position, and on the move.  The distance from the speckled Gryphon to his targets afforded them ample time to remove themselves from the paths of the oncoming rounds.

Kephic secured his RAC, tucked his wings, and released his hold on the nearest truss beam.  He allowed himself to fall like a missile at the end of its flight trajectory, using only his tailfan to make minute course adjustments in order to thread the tangle of support beams.

Just as the Augments halted, and prepared to open fire, Varan once again revealed himself.  The golden Gryphon released his claws, dropping from his upside down hiding place beneath the catwalk.

Varan flared his wings to briefly slow his descent, wincing in pain as he fired a series of devastating shots into the weaker rear plating of the Augments' armor.  Before the troopers had time to re-task, Varan had snapped his wings closed, and rocketed down to a safer, concealed position beside a low-slung maintenance platform.

A moment later, Kephic circled around from the other side of the load bearing strut, and landed silently beside his brother.  The pair wordlessly checked their ammunition count, then spent a moment observing the movements of the Augments, far above.

After a brief discussion, the group split into two smaller fireteams, and began to fan out in opposite directions.

Kephic nodded, slung his rifle across his back, and unsheathed his sword.  As he spoke, he offered Varan two of his spare ammunition clips.

"I'll take the group headed for the center and double them back."

Varan returned the nod, and accepted the clips as he finished his brother's thought.

"I will bring the second group to the opposite side of the platform.  We can then rejoin the others at the central structure."

Kephic grinned, and spread his wings.

"Try not to enjoy yourself too much."

The golden Gryphon narrowed his eyes, and flattened his ears.

"Remain cautious."





"We're cut off!"

The officer blanched, and held his sidearm close to his chest.  A series of loud, ominous thuds issued forth from both ends of the corridor.  The sounds seemed artificially elevated in volume, thanks to the recent lull in the ship-to-ship barrage.

Stan's eyes narrowed, and he snapped out his reply as if her were delivering drill instructions.  The Ensign winced reflexively under the pure and surprising force of the words.

"No, really?!  Ya *think* Einstein?!"

As he continued to speak, Carradan cast about furtively.

"Please share more of your fantastic tactical insights with the class!"

The Pegasus' eyes settled firmly on a segment of wall paneling.  Stan shoved the Ensigns, along with their living cargo, towards the bulkhead, gesturing furiously with one hoof.

"You!  Ensign Obvious;  Get the bolts off!"

As the man dutifully set to work, hastened by a visible sense of desperation, the female Ensign raised an eyebrow.

"That's..."

Stan nodded, snorting and casting furtive glances in both directions as the distant footsteps began to draw closer.

"I know what it is kid.  My best friend is a military nut.  Babbles about this stuff incessantly.  And much as I've tried not to, I've learned a few things by listenin' to him.  Occasionally."

As the panel finally fell away from its stanchions, Stan jerked his head in the direction the group had come from.

"Take up firing positions."

As Stan carefully worked his way through the panel, guessing more often than not, the ship rattled under a renewed barrage of heavy missile fire.  The lights flickered for a moment, then died entirely for most of the corridor's length.  Backup capacitors failed to kick in, underscoring the serious nature of the damage the Battleship had suffered.

Ironically, the Pegasus found himself grateful for the darkness.  It presented a small, but sorely-needed tactical advantage.

Carradan finished his work as swiftly as he could, using his teeth to jerk a wire strip loose, and kite it across the corridor at ankle level.  He tied the frayed end off on the nearest grounded surface, then glanced back at the maintenance panel.

A small bank of lights switched from green, to yellow.  Stan nodded, then back-pedaled furiously until he reached the Ensigns' position.  Both officers had flattened themselves against opposite walls of the corridor, concealing their profiles behind support struts.

Stan glanced back and forth furtively, then settled on collapsing into a limp position beside the Lieutenant, splayed out in the center of the deck plating.

A moment later, the flicker of underslung rifle-attached flashlights darted across the Pegasus' vision cone, reflecting back and forth across the deck plating as the soldiers swept the corridor carefully.

Stan did his best to judge the enemies' positions by the sound of their boots as the soldiers cautiously, but steadily approached.  Carradan held his breath, afraid that the lead trooper would realize he was walking into a trap, if he noticed even the tiniest hair out of place.  Stan silently willed the darkness to conceal any leftover tell-tale signs of the ruse.

Every second seemed to stretch on into its own microscopic eternity, each punctuated by the distinct sound of boots against metal decking.  Carradan found himself completely absorbed in tracking the passing moments, and his best guess as to the nearest soldier's position.

The soft, almost imperceptible sound of fabric running up against wire brought the torture to an end.  Carradan began to tense the instant the noise reached his ears.  The first soldier brought his index finger down to the trigger of his rifle, but his attempt to fire was suddenly interrupted.

The tension of the man's ankles, against the wire pulled the frayed end loose from its tie off point.  The system ceased to be grounded, tripping the junction's internal fuse box a fraction of a second later.

Under normal circumstances, no other tertiary effects would have ensued.  Carradan had, however, opened all of the manual pneumatic relief valves on the lines passing through the junction.

Without the presence of an active electrical current to hold the primary safety cutoffs in place, the system collapsed into an unsafe configuration.  High pressure steam burst from the relief valves in an expanding, scalding cloud of opaque particles.

The force of the initial disbursement was so great that the first soldier was forcibly embedded into the opposite wall of the corridor.  Stan reached a vertical position just in time to see the impact.

The Pegasus also got his first look at the remainder of the squad.  The three remaining troopers were dazed, but still very much alive.  Though they could not see as a result of the steam, they realized their error swiftly enough, and began firing indiscriminately down the passage.

Stan ducked into a reflexive high-speed bullrush, flaring his wings for extra power.  He steeled himself against the momentary pain of the steam, which was followed almost immediately by the jarring impact of hooves against armor plating.

The second soldier went down instantly, the light fading from his eyes as his head hit the decking at a fatal rate of speed.  Stan pressed himself flat against the man's corpse to avoid rising into the line of fire.

The distraction of his arrival allowed the two Ensigns the time they needed to roll out of cover, and lay down a withering hail of pistol rounds.  The final troopers dropped like stones, their armor circumvented by the sheer volume of incoming slugs at close range.

Stan rose, and stood over the bloody remains of his stratagem, breathing heavily to regain control of his racing adrenaline-fueled emotions.  As the nearest functioning pneumatic junction cut off the supply of steam at last, the two Ensigns materialized from the dissipating cloud of fog.

Carradan swept his gaze across the four corpses, and stiffened as he noted the items clamped to their utility hardpoints. 
Semtex blocks, detonator caps, and spare wire. 

The Pegasus turned to exchange words with the two officers, but froze as he gained a clear line of sight to the opposite end of the corridor.  The paralysis broke almost immediately, as a new wave of fear-fueled fight-or-flight chemicals swept through the Carradan's body.

"MOVE!"

Wisely, the two officers did not even waste time turning their heads.  They simply bent to scoop the injured lieutenant into a fireman's carry, and transitioned into the fastest lope they could muster.

Stan, much to his chagrin, got another solid look at their canine pursuer as he turned to sprint towards the nearer end of the hallway.  Based on his experience, Carradan guessed that the Troll was likely an Alpha, or Beta;  One of the strongest members of his pack.

His hulking gray form seemed to fill the corridor as the creature pounded across the decking on all fours.

The external battle began to escalate once more, as both ships' crews pulled them back off the ropes, and forced them into overloaded operating conditions.  The thunder of guns mixed with the thunder of paws to generate brain-jarring omnipresent roar.

Stan and his three charges barely managed to stumble backwards over the next nearest hatchway, and bring the door to a closed and sealed position.  Once again the Diamond Dog slammed into the structure, popping several rivets from their sockets instantly.

The Pegasus paused to inhale, then jerked his head to the left as he issued new instructions.

"Take Lieutenant sleeping beauty there to medical, then rally anyone with free hands and do a sweep, or whatever it is you navy-types call it."

Stan levelled a hoof at the officers, and narrowed his eyes as the Troll rammed into the door once again.

"Those men were carrying explosives.  I ain't ready to believe that's coincidence, and I certainly wouldn't bet on them being the only boarders.  So if I were you, I'd start with places where a bomb might have a chance at crippling the ship."

As the officers nodded, and began dragging their injured superior in the general direction of the sickbay, the female Ensign turned to fire off a final enquiry.

"What do *you* plan to do?"

Stan sighed, and inclined his head.

"Somethin' I'm truly gonna regret in the morning.  I'm gonna buy you lunks a head start."





The SeaHawk rocked gently as it passed through a small updraft.  A wisp of moisture broke on the nose of the jet, and the entire cloud fell away to reveal a clear patch of air below and beyond.

The opening was roofed by thunderheads, but visibility extended all the way to the waves below.  In the far distance, both the North Carolina and the Agincourt were visible.  Both ships were spewing missiles and railgun slugs indiscriminately.

Fyrenn winced as he focused on the side of the Battleship, and took in the extent of the vessel's wounds.  Smoke poured from a dozen breaches in both craft.

Neyla grit her beak sharply, and glowered down through the canopy at the disturbing sight.

"We need to make an end of this.  Swiftly."

The red Gryphon nodded, jerked his head along the line of the jet's trajectory, and pushed the stick forward gently.  The SeaHawk dipped into a shallow, graceful dive, affording Neyla a perfect view of their quarry.

The two Lancets were several hundred feet below, and nearly a mile ahead.  Neither of the enemy pilots seemed to be aware of the Gryphons' presence, which was unsurprising.  The area was still blanketed in both Agincourt's ECM field, and the latent effects of the dazzle canisters.

Fyrenn exhaled, and allowed himself the tiniest hint of a grin as he murmured.

"I'll line them up, and you put the screws to them."

Neyla fixed her gaze on the lead fighter, and tightened her grip on the control stick.  She held her fire as the Lancets began to grow at a dizzying rate.  Fyrenn held his course, trusting that the Gryphoness' instincts were well tuned.

Only when the distance between the jets could be measured in tens of meters did Neyla finally unleash the devastating power of the SeaHawk's railguns.

The Gryphoness selected the first of the two fighters, pouring thousands of rounds directly into the space just fore of the Lancet's engine housing.  The shots tore through the aircraft's center of mass, puncturing the fuel tank in the process and touching off secondary explosions, which immediately spread to the engine.

The heavy caliber of the SeaHawk's rounds tore through the Lancet's relatively light plating as if it were particle board in a wood chipper.  In less than half a second, the craft was reduced to  three larger flaming chunks, and several hundred thousand giblets of high velocity shrapnel.

Neyla's reason for firing on the lead craft became immediately apparent, as the second Lancet was forced to break hard to the right in order to avoid impacting the remains of his wingman.

In spite of the pilot's best efforts, however, several mid sized pieces of the first Lancet slammed into his vertical stabilizer, severely impeding rudder control, and causing the jet to briefly depart controlled flight entirely.

The SeaHawk streaked over the carnage with several meters to spare, rumbling slightly in the wake of the compression wave from the first Lancet's demise.  Fyrenn pressed firmly on both the control column, and the rudder pedals, placing the fighter into a sharp left banking turn.

As the craft completed a seventeen-G one hundred eighty degree maneuver, Neyla caught sight of the remaining Lancet.  The enemy fighter had managed to regain a stable flight profile, but the aircraft was clearly crippled in terms of its maneuvering capacity.

In spite of the damage, the enemy pilot realized the danger of his situation, and made an admirable effort to evade his pursuer.  Fyrenn was impressed by the man's ingenuity;  Realizing he was at a loss for useful rudder control, he compensated surprisingly well by rolling and using his elevons to induce sharp turns and dips.

The evasive tactics were pointless, however.  Alone, even at peak operating condition, a single Lancet was incapable of producing any maneuver that would allow a Human pilot to stay ahead of a Gryphon pilot.

Fyrenn pushed into a tight series of rolls, exiting in an inverted position, facing the oncoming Lancet's flight path.  The situation was, in a peculiar way, reminiscent of a medieval joust.

The red Gryphon smirked as, for the briefest of moments, the enemy pilot was close enough to see his face.  Though the contact only lasted half a second, Fyrenn saw the unmistakable signs of dawning comprehension on the man's face, as he realized why the SeaHawk had been able to maneuver in ways that would have long since killed a Human pilot.

Though technically he had no middle digit, given that each claw had only four talons, Fyrenn nonetheless extended the third talon of his left claw, and held it up against the canopy glass as Neyla depressed her fire-trigger once more.

The enemy pilot had one quarter of a second to see, and comprehend the gesture, before the two fighters passed over each other in a vicious blaze of gunfire.  Most of the Lancet's shots went wide as Fyrenn pushed the SeaHawk into a partial barrel roll.  Neyla's fire remained effective throughout.

Fyrenn didn't need to look at his rearview mirror to know that the Lancet had vanished in a lethal fireball.  But he glanced nonetheless, his grin returning in full force.

"Well congratulations.  You just splashed two enemy craft, guns only, fighting from a disadvantaged position.  If you were Earthgov Air Corps, you would have just earned a shiny, shiny medal."

As the red Gryphon levelled the fighter out, and brought it into a gentler turn, he locked eyes with Neyla through his rearview mirror.

"There is an old aviation term for job well done; Bravo Zulu."

Neyla raised an eyebrow, and chuckled, shaking her head slowly.

"Where does that originate, precisely?"

Fyrenn shrugged, and his smile widened.

"Truthfully...?  Heck if I know."

He paused, then joined Neyla in a brief chuckle, before placing the SeaHawk into another gentle dive.  The Agincourt came into view over the nose, barely visible through the rain, and the smoke of battle.

"But hey, why settle for just two minnows, when we could bag a shark for our troubles.  I need a new head for my wall.  And I have a very specific head in mind."





"CLEAR!"

Lantry rose slowly from his kneeling position, keeping his rifle trained on the last of the corpses he had dispatched.  Skye poked her pistol around the corner first, then cautiously followed suit with her head, and the remainder of her body.

"You're a pretty handy shot for---"

Lantry glanced over his shoulder and raised one eyebrow knowingly.

"For an old man?"

The Unicorn inclined her head and snorted as she made her way fully onto the central catwalk.

"I was *going* to say you're pretty handy, for someone who's out of practice.  But hey, if you want it straight gramps..."

Before Lantry could reciprocate, Skye let out a low prolonged whistle.  The General turned to follow her sight line, and exhaled sharply.

"That's what we're here for?"

Skye nodded, and darted forward, murmuring to herself as she went.

"This is what it looks like to play with fire on a cosmic scale..."  

An immense tangle of power and data cabling spiraled away from the HLF's aftermarket additions to the platform, coiling together into a central trunkline that ended in a series of mobile DaTab workstations.

The bevy of screens was arrayed in a vague semicircle, stacked hurriedly on foldable armatures, and empty metal crates.  Mercifully, pieces of suspended intermittent roof panels kept the rain off the electronics, though some drizzle had blown laterally into the space on gusts of especially severe wind.

Skye set her pistol down on the nearest empty surface, and began rapidly scanning the display panels, doing her best to ignore the dead technician at her hooves.

She shook her head slowly, and glanced over her shoulder to see Lantry fiddling with his combat satchel.  Her tone conveyed a sense of urgency strong enough to palpably charge the air itself.

"They finished their last round of calibrations four minutes ago.  They've already begun the charging sequence, and if these are correct?  We have about four and a half minutes."

Lantry yanked a series of small beamrider beacons from the depths of the bag, and began jogging around the perimeter of the room, securing each with a clear line of sight to the horizon.

As he latched the second beacon to the side of a strut, he cast a glance in Skye's direction, raising his voice to make his question heard over the wind.

"That's not nearly enough time to finish here, and get out in one piece.  Can you shut it off?"

Skye paused, then tapped at several of the screens experimentally with one hoof.  She glanced up and shook her head dolefully.

"They didn't build the system with an 'off switch' in mind."

The General paused, and wrinkled his brow, resuming his task as he voiced his thoughts once more.

"You can't just, I dunno...  Unplug it?"

The Unicorn shook her head more vehemently, and her eyes widened.  Her tone made it clear that her words were deadly serious, with no room for liberal interpretation.

"Absolutely *not.*  Not unless you want to prematurely end the world.  If we cut off the supply of mainline power, then the devices will instantly go off half-charged.  And that will *definitely* cause what we in the scientific community like to refer to as 'bad juju.' "

Skye paused, inclined her head, and continued haltingly.

"That being said...  I might be able to buy us the time we need to finish, and get out of here with our skins intact.  I can force the system to hold for a few more minutes once it reaches full charge by queuing a short-cycle round of calibrations and diagnostics."

Lantry nodded curtly as he moved to the fourth device.

"So we proceed with the original plan.  Blow the whole thing to bits.  Central coil and all.  How much extra breathing room can you finagle?"

The Unicorn tapped out a series of command once again, then spoke in a steady, assured tone, without making eye contact.

"Six minutes.  Plus the four we still have, that gives us ten total."

Lantry snorted, and bent down to secure the final beacon.

"I've done more, with less, in the past.  Ten minutes is an eternity in military terms."

Several quiet moments passed as Skye worked feverishly at the console, and Lantry rechecked each beacon to ensure it was functioning properly.  At last, the Unicorn began nodding slowly, as a series of prompts appeared at the top of the central panel.

"I think...  Nope...  I'm sure.  I've entered the checks into the queue.  When the drivers hit full charge, they'll pause for exactly six minutes to calibrate.  And when those six minutes are up..."

"The world ends?"

Skye stiffened, and her head jerked upwards reflexively as the new, coarse, unfamiliar voice echoed across the platform.  The Unicorn blanched and tensed at the sight that greeted her.

Lantry stood nearly fifteen yards away, locked firmly in a chokehold by a man of similar age, dressed in beige light body-plating.  A red clenched fist was proudly emblazoned on the right shoulder pad, leaving no question whatsoever as to the man's allegiance.

He held a vicious looking tactical knife at Lantry's throat with one hand, and a small laser pistol in the other.  The latter item was trained directly at Skye's forehead, the former was already drawing a thin sliver of blood, leaving the General no room to maneuver.

The newcomer tightened his grip on the pistol, and locked eyes with the Unicorn as he continued speaking in a low, forceful tone.

"*Your* world will certainly come to an end, if that's what you mean.  If you're referring to the inane delusion that this process presents a risk to Earth?  Then you'd best keep your disgusting little muzzle shut.  I'm not so easily suckered by the pretty little lies your kind compulsively spouts."

The man gestured carefully with the pistol, and glowered.

"I am Mr. Utah, and you?  Are dead.  This fellow here, however, is a Human, and therefore has basic rights that animals like you don't deserve.  His fate is not necessarily sealed...  So if you'd like to grant him his life, and extend yours by a few minutes, you can reverse your commands, then step away from that panel, and start taking down those beacons."

A long pause ensued, during which Skye pierced Mr. Utah with a furious, defiant glare.  The man stared back with a seemingly bottomless reservoir of vitriol and hopeless bitterness that turned his eyes into twin pits of pure darkness.  

Mr. Utah broke the silence first, maintaining a calm, yet imminently threatening tone.

"Once, we had something much like your kind on this world.  They served as pack animals, and they knew their rightful place as servants of man.  Learn your place..."

Slowly, deliberately, he cycled the safety on the pistol, all the while tightening his hold on Lantry's throat.

"...Or I will break you, and then you will watch him die."
> Chapter 63
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

Kephic glowered at the Augment, as if the force of his frustration would somehow influence the soldier's mentality in a useful fashion.  The remainder of the trooper's squad had since moved on, following the fleeting glimpses Kephic had allowed them to catch as he drew them away from the central portion of the platform.

On some level, the speckled Gryphon admired the soldier's suspicion.  His instincts were, after all, correct.  Most of Kephic's emotions, however, were caught up in a tangle of frustration and urgent concern.

He knew that time was short, but he knew no specifics.  Kephic hated unquantifiable variables, particularly on the battlefield.

Seconds ticked by into first one minute, then two, as the Augment remained stationary, communicating quietly with his squad leader.  Kephic couldn't hear what was being said, as a result of the sound baffling in the soldier's helmet, but he could tell the man was speaking by turns into his headset microphone.

Kephic tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and held his breath for another ten seconds.  The Augment began to move, at last.  Unfortunately, the soldier's new trajectory took him in precisely the opposite direction of his squad.  Back to the center of the platform.

The speckled Gryphon wasted no time with further analysis.  With as much stealth as he could manage under the circumstances, Kephic lunged from his hiding place, dropping down on the stunned Augment sword-first.

The soldier managed to dodge handily, but Kephic's initiative put the trooper firmly on the defensive.  The man swiftly brought his rifle up, deploying the bayonet smoothly in the process.

The Augment tried furtively to get off a series of initial shots, but Kephic denied him the advantage of his rifle, bringing his sword down forcefully together with a series of vicious swipes from both wings.

The Soldier was forced to choose between having his head crushed like a grape, and having the front of his rifle split into several useless chunks.  Predictably, the man opted to lose the tip of his rifle's barrel, rather than the top of his skull.

Kephic swiftly re-adjusted his tack to press his momentary advantage.  He knew the soldier was likely already communicating with his squad, leaving the Gryphon only a matter of moments to make his kill, or to disengage and escape.

The Augment threw out what looked to be a wild swing.  Kephic spotted the attempted ruse, and countered with a sudden front flip, taking him over the soldier's head with room to spare.  If the Gryphon had one specific advantage, it was his ability to fly.

The advantage was limited by the relatively confining nature of the superstructure, but it gave Kephic a slight edge nonetheless.  He pressed his attack ruthlessly, taking a series of lighting fast swipes at the Augment's back.

Two strokes landed, severing nanomuscle groups and coolant lines in four different places.  The Augment barely seemed to notice, having no sense of pain whatsoever.  Rather, the enemy soldier retaliated with a stunningly quick series of complex parries that forced Kephic to pull away.

It occurred to the Gryphon that he should stop treating the trooper like previous Augments, and instead leverage tactics designed to fight Changelings.  The commonalities were obvious.  Like Gryphons, both Phase-III Augments and Changelings relied mainly on speed and agility for both offense and defense.

Like Changelings, Phase-III Augments had a reduced sense of pain, and incredible organic redundancy.  And like most drones under the sway of the Hive, Augments were single-mindedly devoted to their mission, at the expense of all else.

Kephic smoothly switched to a defensive posture, spinning his sword casually into his left claw, and spreading his wings slightly.  The Augment paused for a tenth of a second, surprised by the Gryphon's ambidexterity, and troubled by the unexpected shift in tactics.

Kephic capitalized on the hesitation to sidestep into a better defensive position, briefly exchanging a series of experimental parries with the soldier. 

The Speckled Gryphon immediately realized that fighting the Augment to any sort of conclusive outcome would require more time than he had to spare.  He prepared to spread his wings, and make good on his escape.

A split second later, a spread of rifle rounds whizzed through the air, forcing Kephic to dive laterally for cover behind a support strut.  The Gryphon winced, and prepared to dig in until he could find a viable exit route, gritting his beak all the while.

"I *hate* cybernetics."





Mr. Utah furrowed his brow, and gestured calmly, but forcefully with his pistol.  Skye shot the man the dirtiest look she could physically force onto her muzzle.  After a brief pause, the Unicorn sidestepped away from the panel, keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Utah unblinkingly.

Fully expecting some sort of trick, Mr. Utah carefully ensured that Skye remained within his gaze at all times, even as he confirmed that she had countermanded her previous instructions on the console.

Lantry, for his part, remained as still as possible, only shifting his feet and legs to keep himself in lock-step with his captor.  Mr. Utah's knife was already coated in a thin layer of blood, and more was flowing freely from a thin gash beneath the edge of the blade.  

The tiniest of false moves, in any direction, would instantly sever the General's critical arteries, with or without added intervention.

Mr. Utah nodded curtly, and stepped back from the panel.  He gestured once more with the pistol as he spoke.

"Now the beacons."

Skye traded a long, doleful glance with Lantry, before making her way as slowly as possible to the first beacon.  Skye glanced up as she set about removing the object from its position on the vertical truss bar.  She kept her tone as calm as possible, but an unmistakable note of hatred crept its way in nonetheless.

"You have *no* idea what sort of forces you're toying with.  You're going to kill billions of people, and then what happens to your precious doctrine of Human superiority?"

Mr. Utah knit his brow, and centered the pistol's sightline firmly on Skye's forehead once more.  His tone was likewise calm, but mixed with unmistakable markers of rage and hate.

"Don't editorialize.  Your kind wants to reduce the rightful masters of all life to a herd of simpering fools, cowering in the filth before your oh-so-godly Solar Tyrant."

Skye snorted, and shook her head as she moved on to the second beacon, again keeping her pace as slow as she could without incurring direct wrath.

"First?  I've met Celestia, and she's not what I'd call 'godly,' by a long stretch.  Second?  Masters of all life?  Really?  How often do you practice that absolute load of horse-shit in the mirror? Third...  Do you actually believe any of it, or is this just about corporate interests?"

The Unicorn raised an eyebrow and leveled a severely judgmental glare at her captor, putting on a deceptively nanny-like tone as she finished her thought.

"Because really...  I've done my research, and the vast majority of you 'Humanity rules' 'anti' zealots are no different than any other rabid extremists, in either world's history.  You're all about either fear of change, pure arrogance, laziness and envy, or greed.  So which are you?"

Mr. Utah glowered, gritting his teeth to maintain control of his temper as he forced out a response.

"I am the one holding a weapon capable of atomizing an inch-wide hole of tissue front-to-back through that ugly misshapen skull of yours.  Work silently.  Unless you'd like a demonstration of my 'arrogance,' in full."

Skye glanced up at Lantry again, waiting for some sort of signal.  The General merely produced a slight nodding motion with his eyes.  Though the Unicorn couldn't fathom the reason for the order, she followed through, moving on to the third beacon.

As she worked, doing her best to maintain a slow pace, she muttered invectives to herself under her breath.





Stan stood, lungs heaving like a blast furnace, waiting for his pursuer to round the far corner of the passage;  Steadfast in spite of his instincts.  Every nerve and muscle in his body urged him to go flat-out down the corridors until he reached the edge of the ship, and then to hurl himself into the sky, and keep going.

The Pegasus tensed as the Troll thundered into the corridor, skidding around the corner and slamming into the far wall momentarily as he got his claws under him.  Carradan waited just long enough for the creature to visually acquire him, then took off up the nearest ladder well.

Though the Diamond Dog was far faster over flat deck plating, Carradan could rise several decks on his wings, in the time it took the huge beast to cover the first three rungs of a ladder.  Stan's flight provided the only tactical advantage standing between him, and an unthinkably grizzly death.

Though the Pegasus didn't know North Carolina's layout by heart, he had spent enough time on the ship to have a workable sense of its structure.  Perhaps more importantly, he had spent enough time around Fyrenn to pick up bits and pieces of useful military knowledge.  More than anything, he was thankful that he had learned to read and understand bulkhead location codes.

Carradan breathlessly counted off the compartments as he bounded through deck three, headed to the port-side fore area of the Battleship.  The smallest seeds of a plan had begun to germinate in the Pegasus' mind.

Stan paused for half a second to brace himself as a particularly forceful tremor rocked the ship.  As he regained his footing and continued the helter skelter dash forward, he allocated a small part of his brain to worry about the battle going on outside.

In the Pegasus' estimation, the North Carolina was approaching the breaking point.  Stan realized, with a rueful grunt, that his clever tactic would be absolutely pointless if the entire Battleship went down.

A particularly jarring impact of paws against metal refocused Carradan's mind sharply on the present danger.  It wouldn't matter if the Battleship survived, if all that remained of him was a thin pink paste.





"Periscope depth reached."

The Retribution's Captain leaned forward and pulled down on two cylindrical handles above his head, releasing a small digital scope.  He peered into the device as the LADAR officer made his preliminary report.

"Primary fire-control systems are still suppressed.  Visual lock established on hostile targets, positive identification; Battleship North Carolina, Arsenal Ship Agincourt.  Designating as tracks Omicron Two-Seven and Omicron Two-Eight."

The Captain blinked as his scope automatically adjusted to the sun-like flare of muzzle discharge, then pulled away before issuing his orders.

"Telemetry;  Establish individual tracks on priority subsystems.  Weps;  Load torpedo tubes, VLS racks, and bring the deck gun online.  Helm;  Make your course three-three-two true, maintain periscope depth."

The weapons officer nodded curtly and began speaking quietly, but forcefully, into his headset.

"Torpedo room, load all tubes, mag-tracking configuration.  CIC Configure VLS warheads for pre-programmed positional tracking, and ready deck gun for visual acquisition.  Standby for tracks and kill orders."

The LADAR operator spent several moments quietly working his console, before making a more detailed report.

"Critical enemy subsystems identified.  Designating Battleship turrets as Omicron Two-Seven-One, Two, and Three respectively.  Designating Battleship damaged starboard outrigger structure as Omicron Two-Seven-Four.  Designating Battleship Island structure primary weak point as Omicron Two-Seven-Five."

The man paused as the helm officer interjected briefly.

"Heavy swells inbound. Tertiary effects from enemy fire."

The Captain nodded, and secured his seating harness as the LADAR officer continued.

"Designating Arsenal Ship ECM systems as Omicron Two-Eight One, Designating Arsenal Ship Bridge as Omicron Two-Eight Two, Designating Arsenal Ship VLS racks and magazines as Omicron Two-Eight Three and Four.  All tracks designated, awaiting assignment."

After a brief pause, The Captain leaned forward, and began gesturing as he laid out a final series of pre-combat orders.

"Kill track Omicron Two-Seven Two and Three with VLS.  Kill track Omicron Two-Eight Four with torpedoes.  Kill tracks Omicron Two-Seven Four and Two-Eight Two with deck gun.  Weapons posture one.  Stand by for fire command."

After a short pause, the weapons officer nodded, and glanced over his shoulder.

"CIC reports all weapons configured as orders, and tracks assigned.  Standing by for your order sir."

The Captain sat back, and folded his arms.

"Fire all."





Kephic ducked to bypass a vicious blow from his primary opponent, then rolled to avoid an incoming round.  The remainder of the Augment's squad was slowly, but steadily closing the distance, providing withering and precise fire support.

The speckled Gryphon knew that he was only alive because the same girders and struts that prevented him from making maximum use of his wings also provided nearly limitless cover from railgun fire.

Kephic knew enough, from first-claw experience, to know that delaying tactics could only last a limited time.  By his estimation, he only had a few more brief moments before the remainder of the squad overwhelmed his position.

Escape was a non-option.  With the entire squad of Augments concentrated on a single target at close range, the Gryphon knew he had absolutely no chance at surviving an aerial egress.  Though he was categorically unwilling to give up, Kephic silently resigned himself to the rising likelihood that the engagement would take his life.

He knew his best chance lay in creating a sufficient distraction amongst his opponents to escape.  As the Gryphon pivoted gracefully away from the Augment's bayonet once more, he reached for one of his two grenades.

The devices were light incendiary charges, intended to burn through armor rather than defeat it solely with concussive force.  As a byproduct, the grenades also produced a great deal of light and sound, not unlike a flashbang.

Kephic was on the verge of pulling the pin, when his nearest assailant staggered, and dropped to one knee.  Rather than bother with his sword, the Gryphon flicked away both the pin, and spoon.

He rammed the grenade into the gap between the soldier's helmet and pauldrons, pivoting away in the same smooth movement.

A stream of precise, well-patterned cover fire burst from above, taking the remainder of the squad by surprise.  As Kephic rolled away, he took advantage of the moment to arm, and throw, the second grenade.

He exited his maneuver as the first device detonated, taking his assailant's head and shoulders with it in a searing, expanding sphere of pure heat and light.

A moment later, the second grenade went off, dazzling the remaining Augments' ocular sensors briefly.  Kephic seized the moment to spread his wings, and dive off the catwalk, pivoting up at a ninety degree angle to avoid striking a support beam.

As he made good on his exit, the seemingly invisible source of support fire continued to wreak havoc on the enemy squad.  The stream of rounds only ceased once the majority of the enemy soldiers had gotten their legs back under them.

By that time, Kephic was well out of sight, clinging to the outside of the platforms support buttresses.  He didn't have to wait long for Varan to appear, still cradling his RAC as he alit on a nearby maintenance ledge.

The speckled Gryphon raised an eyebrow, ignoring the streams of rain pouring down his ears, cheeks, and off the tips of his wings.

"How did you know I was caught in a tight spot?"

Varan blinked once, then spoke with his customary dispassionate tone, and piercing stare.

"I know you."

Kephic smirked, noting that Varan allowed himself a nearly imperceptible hint of a return smile.  The speckled Gryphon gestured with one claw as he sheathed his sword, then glanced out at the horizon.

"We're short on time.  I think we've done our job."

Varan nodded, and inclined his head towards the center of the platform.

"My thoughts exactly."





"We have new inbound fire!"

The TAO stiffened, and instinctively braced.  Another round of shockwaves coursed through the Battleship's superstructure.  He glanced at the LADAR operator, who pulled away from his scope to make a swift report.

"Starboard lookout reports new contact!  Periscope in the water, bearing zero nine eight true, distance three hundred yards!  Closing in standard aggressive attack pattern on our starboard quarter!"

It only took a few moments for the TAO to settle on a new course of action.  He cleared his throat, and barked out a series of commands.

"Come hard right and press maximum thrust out of the engines!  Switch turret three, and VLS tubes one through five to new hostile track!"

The weapons officer nodded, and set about implementing the acting Captain's instructions.  The helmsman turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Sir, that heading will put us on a potential collision course with *both* enemy vessels!"

The TAO nodded, and narrowed his eyes.  The man's tone dipped into a dangerous octave as he repeated his order.

"Come hard right.  Flank speed ahead.  Set manual throttle and disengage all safety interlocks."

The helmsman blanched, but nodded nonetheless, and set about carrying out his orders.

"Hard right rudder, ahead flank.  Aye sir."

The TAO turned to his acting XO, and leaned in close enough to make himself heard at a lower volume.

"Where are we with the intruder situation?"

The XO narrowed his eyes, and sighed as he responded.

"Several enemy combatants have been found, and neutralized.  Response teams discovered charges on two coolant lines, and three on critical sections of reactor casing.  There might be more, but if so, they aren't attached to any critical areas or components.  Those have been swept clean, and secured."

The acting Captain paused, then tilted his head, waiting for another impact to pass before speaking again.

"Are any of the boarders still at large?"





"MAKE A HOLE! *GO!* CLEAR THE DECK! *MOVE!*"

Carradan poured every possible ounce of air into his lungs as he shouted the instructions.  The words echoed through the forward hangar bay, rebounding sharply off the walls and ceiling.

Mercifully, after a momentary pause, the deck crew sprang into action, rushing for cover, in some cases for nearby hatchways.  Stan managed to make it to the opposite end of the chamber, and into one of the open launch bays.

He kicked frantically at a portion of the decking, trying to recall exactly where his target lay.  Stan frantically glanced at the bay's entrance, then left at the shooter's redoubt.  An airman was sitting in the control chair, eyeing the latched hatchway that connected his control room to the landing bay proper.

Stan rapped one front hoof sharply on the wall to get his attention, as his back left hoof finally found the access latch he had been looking for.  Though he had never seen one in action aboard a ship, he had noticed similar devices in use on the ground at airports on many an occasion.

From pure observation, and a healthy stint reporting on commercial aviation, he knew precisely what the device in question was capable of.  As he pried the latch into the open position with one wing, he gestured first to the shooter, then down at the port.

The man seemed to realize what he wanted, thankfully.  The officer held up an 'ok' sign with his left hand, while furiously working the control panel with his right.  The man's voice came over the intercom, just as the Diamond Dog burst through the entry portal, skidding into the center of the hangar in a furious daze.

"Are you sure you want me to cycle that?!  Do you know what it is, much less what it will do to you?!"

Stan nodded as the Troll sighted in on him, the creature's beady rage-filled eyes locking on with laser focus.

"Pull the fuse, turn it up to eleven, I don't care what you have to do!  I want everything you can put into it!  Heck, BLOW THE WHOLE JUNCTION for all I care!  Just WAIT for my signal!"

The officer gulped, and nodded hesitantly.  Stan dug in, ensuring that his back left hoof was firmly planted in the access groove he had forced open.  He flared his wings, dipped his head, spread his front hooves, and prepared for the worst impact of his life.

"COME ON YOU FAT, UGLY, WRINKLY, DUMB *MUTT!*  COME AND GET ME!"

The Diamond Dog obliged, putting inch-deep gouges into the armor plating of the deck as he took off at a strong lope, headed directly, and single-mindedly, for Carradan.

The hit was exactly as painful as the Pegasus had predicted.  He felt as if half the bones in his body had been transformed into a messy pulp.  The world spun upside down, and a bone somewhere in Stan's left rear haunch let out an ominous crack.

Stan managed, incredibly, to maintain a half-standing, half sitting position.  He wrapped both wings around the Troll in his best imitation of a death grip, and poured every last ounce of strength into his lungs.

"NOW! NOW! NOW! CYCLE IT NOW!"

With only a touch of hesitation, the officer reached down and flicked the appropriate switch on his console.  In short order, all hell broke loose.

After a momentary whine, light and heat sprang forth from the socket.  The sun-like blue-white tendrils of electrical energy coursed over the latch plate, and the 'APU,' markings stenciled on it.  They danced and flickered as they rushed up Carradan's left rear leg, and into his body and wings.

Acting on Stan's instructions, the shooter had bypassed all safety cutoffs and fuses, routing the main trunkline for the magnetic catapult directly into the aircraft APU plugin socket.

The launch chamber filled with artificial lightning.  Arcs passed into and over Stan, through the Troll, and out to the walls of the compartment, seeking a grounded state by whatever path they first happened upon.

Without a cutoff fuse, or regulation circuits, the socket became a conduit for many thousands of volts.  The arcs whipped around Stan's wings, as the Pegasus latched onto the Troll, and lifted his other three hooves away from the deck.  The action forced electricity that had been passing through the Pegasus' legs, to instead pass through the Troll's body.

The Diamond Dog screamed in pure agony as his muscles welded to his bones, contracting reflexively as the electricity first shut down, then overwhelmed his internal organs.  In spite of the beast's amazing durability, his nervous system, brain, and heart were incapable of diffusing so much voltage differential in a nonlethal fashion.

Stan cried out as well, pouring the force of his lungs into a heartfelt battle cry as his muscles tingled, and his ribs creaked under the force of the Troll's vicious grip.

Though the process only lasted half a minute, it seemed to Carradan as if the thirty seconds somehow stretched out into hours.  His lungs filled with superheated air, and his eyes twitched reflexively as the nerve endings responded to the charge running through them.

Abruptly, the Diamond Dog's howls ceased, and his dead weight came crashing down on Stan like a mountain of bricks.  The force of the collapse knocked the Pegasus away from the APU socket, vastly decreasing the number of electrical arcs in the chamber.

A moment later, the deadly bolts vanished entirely as the shooter disconnected the circuit breaker to the entire subsystem.

As crewman rushed in to remove what remained of the Troll, Stan lay flat on his back, desperately forcing his lungs to inhale, and exhale in a slow, rhythmic fashion.  The moment the Diamond Dog's carcass was off his chest, the shooter was standing above Stan, holding out a helping hand.

Stan took a deep breath, placed his right hoof in the man's hand, and allowed the officer to pull him over into a standing position.  His legs shook, more from adrenaline than anything else, as he took stock of himself.

After an experimental step, he could tell that he had cracked, possibly broken ribs.  One of his wings felt bruised, and he felt certain that if he wagered his back left hoof was fractured, he would win.

Otherwise, however, he felt none the worse for wear.  Not even a single singe-mark marred his feathers, messy though they were from sweat, and the impacts he had received.

After a long moment of silence, the shooter whistled, and shook his head slowly.  He knelt down to bring his eyes level with Carradan's as med techs rushed to pull the Pegasus onto a stretcher.

The officer's tone was equal parts awe, and thinly veiled surprise.

"How in the hell did you know that was going to work?"

Carradan tried to wave off the medics, but they forced him, insistently, onto the stretcher at last.  The shooter began walking alongside as the bearers spirited him away towards the nearest corridor.

"Well...  I'm a Pegasus aren't I?  Some of us can control lightning...  So I figured I'd be safe.  And heck, there was no sense in letting the Gryphons have *all* the fun today."

The shooter held up a hand and blinked several times, before forcing out his next thought awkwardly.

"Really...  Though...  Where did you get a crazy hair-brained idea like that?"

Stan shrugged as one of the nurses forced him back onto his chest, and sighed.

"A friend of a friend pulled a similar stunt recently.  Saved a good few lives in the process.  And I figure, there ain't no way I'm letting a blue reptile best me at anything."

The Shooter came to a stop, blinking and stammering incoherently as the stretcher and its procession moved off down the corridor.  Stan winked, and chuckled.  The sound swiftly turned to a cough as the motion agitated his ribs, but he managed to get out his words nonetheless.

"My friends do this sort of thing all the time!  Its not the most idiotic thing we've ever tried!"

At last, the officer managed to find his words, calling out as the party rounded a corner.

"Your friends are a *bad* influence!"
> Chapter 64
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

Skye dropped the last beacon into the small pile, and cast a wary glance over at the main console.  She had been carefully keeping track of the passing seconds, and in her estimation, there was less than a minute left to take action.

As the Unicorn gingerly stepped back from the small pile of devices, Mr. Utah tightened his grip on the laser pistol, and allowed a tiny hint of a smirk to pass onto the edges of his lips.

"Well.  At least you've proven you're good for the same thing a solid draft horse was.  You have any last words?"

Skye tensed, mentally preparing herself for a last ditch attempt at survival.  To her surprise, she found that most of her brain, and her gut, were focused on the goal of staying alive.  Fear barely had a tiny sliver of a corner unto itself.

To her further surprise, Lantry's voice filled the silence.  Though he could barely manage a harsh tone above a whisper, his words were clear enough to be heard.

"I do."

Mr. Utah raised an eyebrow, and glanced at his captive.  To Lantry's surprise, he nodded, chuckling grimly as he spoke.

"Go on then.  Plead for her life.  If you want to waste air on a fruitless endeavor."

Lantry managed a half-snort, wincing as the knife dug further into his neck by several millimeters.  His voice conveyed surprising anger, and stoicism, in spite of the situation.

"Plead?  Hell no, asshole...  I'm placing you under arrest for treason, terrorism, murder, and sedition, by the power vested in me by the United Earth Government Central Military Command."

For one long, very unpleasant moment, both Skye and Lantry were sure that their captor was going to cut straight to the chase, and dispose of them both in short order.  Much to their bemusement, a grating, gravelly laugh boiled forth from Mr. Utah's chest.

The sound started as a low, silent rumble at first, but very quickly rose into a brief, but unmistakable bout of mirth.  Mr. Utah raised an eyebrow, and snorted as the sound died away.

"I'm honestly curious..."

He paused, and sighted carefully on Skye's horn, depressing a small nub on the right side of the pistol to activate a laser sighting beam.  He continued as a small red dot appeared on Skye's forehead.

"...What, precisely, did you expect that wad of tripe to accomplish?  Did you really think I was going to throw down my weapons and silently allow you to damn the Human race to extinction?"

Lantry smiled, and shifted ever so slightly, speaking in a low, forceful, and calm tone.

"No.  I expected you to be arrogant, and poorly disciplined, and you did not disappoint."

It was the General's turn to chuckle, as a confused expression overtook Mr. Utah's face, twisting it into a goblin-like grimace.  Lantry coughed, and gulped, trying to ease the pain in his throat as he spoke once more.  He directed his words, and his gaze, at Skye, to the Unicorn's surprise.

"I asked a lot of you once before.  Now I'm asking you to be brave, and finish what we came here to do.  Don't blame yourself.  This isn't just for you, or any one person.  That being said;  Tell Fyrenn that we're all square now.  The three of us.  All debts are paid in full."

Skye began shaking her head slowly, as realization dawned on her.  Her chest constricted, and she felt conflicting urges to vomit, and to break out in uncontrolled sobs.  Tears began streaming from her eyes as she managed to force out one word.

"Don't!"

Mr. Utah tightened his grip on the knife, and pulled it a few millimeters across Lantry's throat, causing the General to wince in pain.

"What are you talking about?  You answer me, or I'll take your head off right here, right now!"

Lantry coughed once more, and began to chuckle again softly as he replied.

"We're talking about the first and most important rule of combat explosives... Of course an undisciplined son of a bitch like you doesn't know the first thing about proper military procedure, so let me enlighten you..."

The General carefully twisted his right arm until his hand, and the three objects clutched within, were visible.  As he finished his thought, he allowed the two smaller metallic items to fall away.  Their impacts on the decking lent emphasis and finality to his words.

"When the pin is pulled?  Mister Grenade is *not* your friend."

A single beat, lasting little more than half a second, passed.  The image burned itself into Skye's brain, as if it had been etched with a white-hot hammer and chisel.  Mr. Utah's expression was one of dawning comprehension;  Fear, rage, realization, and impotent urgency clouded his visage.  The sight was satisfying, in a twisted way.

Lantry's face, on the other hand, bore a mixture of contentment, relief, and even a hint of smugness.  It was the face of a victorious soldier who had cheated the odds, and succeeded.

Skye was forced to look away as the grenade detonated.  She reflexively brought her hooves up to shield her face, as a wave of tertiary spent hot gasses whipped past her.  The sound of the storm outside vanished as the explosion set her sensitive Equine ears on edge, replacing all else with a dull aching ring.

In spite of the immense turmoil of emotions that had overwhelmed her gut, the Unicorn forced herself to open her eyes once the light and heat had died down.  Skye averted her gaze from what little remained of the two corpses, instead half-dashing, half-stumbling her way over to the control console.

The small portion of her brain that was still functional found time to express an internal sentiment of surprise, as she worked feverishly.  Overcome by a combination of grief, shock, and panic, it was a wonder she was capable of keeping her hooves steady enough to work.

At last, the console chirruped twice, indicating the re-entry of a maintenance and calibration cycle into the instruction queue.  Skye sat back numbly on her haunches, barely noting that she had completed her task with only five seconds to spare.

Skye wasn't sure how long she sat in a dazed, detached state, before Kephic and Varan arrived.  She knew it was more than one minute, but less than two.

The two Gryphons dropped down from above, skidding to a stop with a palpable sense of rushed urgency.  The broad strokes of the situation became instantly apparent to the brothers.  Wordlessly Varan nodded towards Skye.  Kephic pointed towards the small pile of beacons.

The golden Gryphon gently moved to pull the Unicorn away from the central console, pulling her into a sheltered position under his left wing.  Kephic scooped up the beacons in both fisted claws, and began hurriedly re-affixing them to support struts and load bearing columns.

Varan brought his head down, and around to look Skye directly in her eyes.  His tone, normally so emotionless, conveyed a stunning level of comfort and concern in deeply subtle shifts and tremors.

"He sacrificed himself?"

Skye nodded wordlessly, bringing one hoof up to brush at her eyes.  Varan pulled her close into the soft feathers of his neck, indulging in a deeply surprising display of care and affection.  As he pulled away, he offered the Unicorn a gentle, but firm clap on her back.

The motion, combined with his words, seemed to shake off part of Skye's daze, bringing her back to some semblance of a connection with reality.

"He did what any honorable warrior would have done."

The Unicorn nodded slowly, and inhaled a sharp, ragged breath, before speaking at last.

"We have just over five minutes now."

Kephic finished affixing the last beacon, and twisted the base sharply.  A small, dim red holographic display appeared over the object's face-plate.  The speckled Gryphon twisted the baseplate until the timer read four minutes and forty seconds.

Varan dipped his head, and sighed.

"That is precious little time for us to make our escape."

Kephic nodded, and strode back to the two corpses, speaking curtly and sharply as he bent over what little remained of Miles Lantry.

"And it's all we can afford."

The speckled Gryphon knelt down, and reached across the General's chest.  His claw came away with the charred but still-intact remnants of Lantry's dog-tags.  Most of the chain had been melted away, but the tags themselves remained in one piece, having been designed to defy explosive force for just such a reason.

Kephic tucked the object safely away in the feathers at the joint between his right ring, and shoulder, then jerked his head towards the raging squall outside.

Varan nodded, and allowed his brother to reach down and take charge of Skye.  The unspoken logic was clear;  Varan would make better time on his injured wing if he were as unburdened as possible.

The two Gryphons dashed to the nearest sheer edge, and threw themselves off, spreading their wings and catching the furious gusts of wind in an attempt to augment their speed.  

As the platform fell away behind, so too did the seconds left on the clock.





"We have good signal on the beacons!  Repeat sir;  The targeting beacons just went live!  We have a solid positional lock, and interference is negligible!  Designating as track eight four three."

The TAO clutched the holotank railing firmly, and visually confirmed the telemetry as he spoke.

"Redirect all weapons to kill track eight four three!  Sustained continuous fire!"

The Battleship shuddered as a series of enemy warheads hit home on the exterior of the island structure.  A breach alarm sounded in the distance, indicating that one of the warheads had found a weak point in the armor belts.

The acting XO shook his head, his eyes growing wide with a fear that the tone in his voice underscored sharply.

"We're facing two enemy targets at close quarters!!  If we lose momentum by redirecting fire---"

The acting Captain shook his head, and glowered.

"If we don't then the consequences are just a *little* more severe, don't you think?!  Redirect ALL weapons to track eight four three and FIRE!"

The weapons officer nodded sharply, and clutched at his headset microphone.

"CIC: All weapons to track eight four three.  Continuous sustained barrage!  Fire! Fire! Fire!"

The TAO offered his acting executive a sharp glance, and lowered his voice.

"And if we die today?  Then we die doing our duty.  It's what we're here for."





The roar of battle continued unabated as the North Carolina's weapons re-tasked to their new target.  For three seconds, the volume of the cacophony decreased slightly as the Battleship's main guns ceased firing to afford the turrets a chance to turn, and re-acquire.

The VLS tubes continued to belch forth fire and smoke unabated.  The next round of missiles simply streaked heavenward, then turned east by northeast.

At last, the great warship's main guns locked into position.  Once more the mighty battery spoke, seemingly shaking the world to its very foundation as round after round was dispatched over the horizon.

The weapons struck out with abandon, dispensing their deadly payload at an accelerated rate with no concern for the damage being done to the barrels, muzzles, and loading mechanisms by the grueling regimen.

The rounds whizzed over the sea so swiftly that they left blinding streaks of light, and thunderclaps in their wake.  Sighted on the guidance beams from Lantry's beacons, the rounds flew straight and true, arriving well before the slower missile-driven munitions.

The first volley struck the platform with so much energy that the entire superstructure was pushed sideways by the blast wave, causing the upper portions of the construct to impact the Barrier, and vaporize in a vivid secondary detonation.

The center of the structure was instantaneously reduced to a sizzling white-hot rimmed hole by the first volley, fully vaporizing all the HLF devices, as well as the structure's central field coil.

The second volley arrived only half a second later, tearing through what little remained of the structure, the HLF's railguns, and any survivors from the first blast.  Some of the rounds punched straight through, directly impacting the Barrier, and touching off more secondary explosions.

Two seconds later, the missile flights arrived in conjunction with further railgun volleys, pummeling the entire area with a vicious, relentless torrent of kinetic and chemical energy.  The relentless hounding in turn generated an opposing reaction from the Barrier, pouring untamed and unexplained energies on top of conventional explosives, and kinetic detonations.

In a matter of a few moments, the energies had unleashed a runaway reaction.  A flash brighter than ten thousand stars erupted at the epicenter of the detonation, pushing back the sea in a crater-like depression as water was instantly vaporized.

The North Carolina's starboard lookouts were instantly blinded, as were several unlucky members of both Agincourt and Retribution's crews.

As the Battleship's volleys ceased, a relatively small, but visible mushroom cloud billowed up from the center of the event, a hallmark of the devastating forces of nuclear fusion that had unintentionally been set free.

A wave of energy rippled out across the Barrier in response, zipping away harmlessly towards both horizons at supersonic speeds.

All that remained of the retarder platform was a rapidly expanding ball of hot gasses.  A fitting pyre for the sacrifice that had made its destruction possible.





"Brace up!  That shockwave is going to be rough, even by the time it gets here."

Fyrenn glanced at the rising mushroom cloud once more, then pressed the throttle and the control column forward, increasing thrust and the the angle of the SeaHawk's dive.  Neyla nodded, and carefully checked the cinches on her harness.

"Obviously they were successful..."

The tone of the Gryphoness' words, and the way her sentence trailed off, told Fyrenn that her thoughts were running precisely parallel to his.  He knew full well that even though the primary objective had been accomplished, that many lives were still in danger.  Most especially, the lives of his family and closest friends.

The red Gryphon pulled the fighter level just above the crests of the waves, juking the stick carefully to compensate for rain, downdrafts, and large swells.  He grit his beak, in a gesture that was becoming all-too familiar, and muttered darkly as the North Carolina and the Agincourt appeared over the horizon.

"Reset master arm, and be ready for a series of low pass sweeps.  I'm going to line it up for you to bust the bunker on the first pass, supersonic.  The second time through I want you to pass gun control back to my stick.  I made a man a promise... And I intend to keep it."





"Damage report!"

The acting XO bent over the nearest console, and shook his head slowly, tightening his brace position as the ship rocked sharply under renewed impacts.

"It's bad!  We're taking on seawater through compromised bulkheads on the starboard side.  Two penetrating hits on the island structure.  A third will probably cause critical structural failure!"

The TAO spun to face the weapons officer, and narrowed his eyes.

"Give me a report on munitions status, and situation of enemy targets."

The officer buried his head in his scope for a moment, before barking out a staccato response.

"We're out of torpedos.  VLS bays are down to the last two-dozen warheads.  We can't get a good optical fix on the sub.  Agincourt is in critical condition, more or less adrift, but her ECM generator and most of her missile racks are still functioning.  We lost critical momentum when we re-tasked our weapons."

The TAO nodded slowly, and exhaled.  He rubbed at the back of his head, then clasped both hands firmly on the nearest brace rails.

"Weps;  Concentrate all fire on the Agincourt.  Align guns to focus on the rear and central portions of the island structure.  Helm;  Come port five degrees and bring us back to knife-fight range.  If we go, they are going with us."





"The target is a deck-high slit, probably covered with emergency blast shields.  Oh-Three level.  All you have to do is puncture that blast shield.  Ready?"

Neyla nodded, and tightened her grip on the control column.

"I am prepared."

Fyrenn exhaled slowly, and tipped the SeaHawk up onto one wing, pulling into a tight turn.  The jet exited the maneuver flying level, barely four feet over the wave crests.  The red Gryphon held the throttle at precisely the right notch to produce Mach one thrust.

The Agincourt appeared over the edge of the horizon, and quickly loomed large against the backdrop of the ashen sky.  Fyrenn held his course, unblinking, bringing the SeaHawk in for a perilously low pass.

At the opportune moment, when the angle was precisely right for the shot, Neyla unleashed the fury of the twin autocannons once more.  The barrage tore into the front of the ship's island structure as the SeaHawk blew past overhead, the supersonic shockwave rattling the vessel to its core.

As Fyrenn pulled up and away, rolling to dodge an outbound missile from the North Carolina, an insistent tone sounded from Neyla's flight status panel.

The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow, and double checked before voicing her grim observation.

"We are fuel-critical, likely as a result of our leak and previous fuel dump.  Less than ten percent left."

Fyrenn nodded, and pushed the craft into a loop, once again briefly maxing out the G-meter as he pressed the throttle to afterburn at the apex of the maneuver.  As the SeaHawk dove back to a lower flight level, the red Gryphon snorted, and checked his own panel to determine the average consumption rate, and remaining flight time.

"If you want to bail out now, I won't object."

Neyla leaned forward, and placed one claw on Fyrenn's right shoulder.

"We both know I need to see this done as much as you do."

The Gryphoness reached back to one of her side panels, and toggled a series of covered switches, before speaking softly once more.

"Your guns."

Fyrenn nodded curtly, and narrowed his eyes as he pulled the fighter into another level low-flying pass.

"My guns."





"Sir!  We just lost the other turbine!  We're adrift and on fire in seven, no, EIGHT compartments!!  We have NO response from the boarding party, the Retribution is coming in for another pass, and our Lancets are overdue!  We have to abandon ship!"

Minos seized the officer by his right shoulder, and slammed the man's head vigorously into his console bank.  Spittle flew from his mouth as he raged at the officer.

"YOU WILL HOLD YOUR POST!  DO YOU HEAR ME YOU COWARD?! YOU WILL HOLD YOUR POST! REDIRECT ALL FIRE AT---"

The tirade was cut short by a sound akin to a buzz saw impacting a terra cotta pipe.  The blast shields at the fore of the bridge exploded inwards, collapsing into an enormous cloud of superheated shrapnel.

Minos instinctively slid to a prone position, placing a console outcropping between himself and the worst of the damage.  The majority of the bridge crew were less fortunate.  Anyone in the direct line of fire was eviscerated, by errant shells, or by the vast cloud of metallic debris.

The Agincourt rattled as the assailing craft passed by overhead at Mach one, and the sonic boom mixed with the deafening roar of North Carolina's guns.  Without the blast shields, there was nothing left to block out the external din of vicious ship to ship combat.

Minos pulled himself to his feet, staring out the gaping hole that had once been the front of Agincourt's island structure.  Rain, smoke, and steam poured in through the breach, carried by the stiff winds of the storm.

Minos stood for a moment, utterly dazed, before clawing his way forward to the weapons console.  He paused to shove a dead officer out of the chair, before seating himself, and securing the safety straps over his shoulders.

It only took Minos a moment to find the controls for the deck gun, and link them to the station's joystick.  He scanned the horizon desperately as he worked, at last catching sight of his target.  As he had expected, the craft was inbound for another pass, at subsonic speeds.

Minos grinned, his hair whipped into a wild shape, his eyes bloodshot.  As the SeaHawk closed, coming ever closer to the range of the deck gun, he shouted out into the storm with all the rage he could pour into his lungs.

"COME ON THEN!  I'LL CUT OFF YOUR WINGS YET YOU RED BASTARD!"





Once again the Arsenal Ship loomed to the fore of the canopy.  Fyrenn kept the throttle at a considerably lower setting, rather than opting for a high speed flyover.  He flicked the cover off the flight control's omnidirectional hat-switch, and pressed several buttons on his central console, connecting the gun's gimbal controls to the smaller input surface.

"Target acquired."

The red Gryphon's right index talon hung over the trigger, mere millimeters away from the brightly colored plastic housing as sea and sky flashed past at hundreds of miles per hour.  As the Arsenal ship came into range, Fyrenn hissed, and fixed his eyes firmly on the bridge.

"This one's for Sonya."

His subconscious mind processed the series of flashes almost before the nerve impulses had finished firing completely.  The Agincourt's deck gun erupted in a blaze of rapid fire, painting the sky around the SeaHawk bright yellow with tracer shell trails.

Virtually without conscious thought, Fyrenn flipped the fighter into a tight barrel roll, and pulled back on the throttle, shedding more speed abruptly.

As the jet reached the apex of its vertical path, inverted, time seemed to slow to a crawl.

Fyrenn's eyes fixed firmly on his target.  Minos stared up at him from his seat on the shambles of Agincourt's bridge, screaming vindictively as he held the trigger in on his own weapon.  The deck gun's shells screamed past mere inches from the SeaHawk's left wing, casting Fyrenn and Neyla's vengeful expressions in a lurid, hellish, fearful light.

"Target Engaged."

As the red Gryphon pulled back on his own trigger, and massaged the joystick's hat switch to rotate the weapon gimbals, he watched Minos' expression turn from triumph, to rage, and then at long last, to abject terror.

And then the red Gryphon watched as five thousand rounds of unforgiving tungsten steel carbide hit home, reducing Minos' skull, and upper torso to nothing more substantive than a fine mist.

The SeaHawk whipped over the Agincourt's island structure, still inverted, bringing the canopy within less than an inch of the ship's highest protruding point.  As soon as the craft was finally clear, Fyrenn flipped the jet back into level flight, and accelerated upwards towards the low hanging clouds.

He offered Neyla a short, satisfied grin in the rearview mirror.

"Target destroyed."





"Sir, lookout reports that the Agincourt's bridge structure just went up!  Said a large fighter aircraft made two low passes and shredded the forward portions of the island structure!"

The TAO nodded, and gestured forward sharply with one hand.

"Now or never!  Helm;  Hard starboard, cut across their bow and go to full reverse thrust until all-stop!  Weps;  Standby for full main-battery broadside on enemy target!  Tell CIC to focus on the enemy bridge, we are going to ram our shells down their throat, and we are sending them to the bottom this time, so help me *God!*"

The helmsman spun his rudder wheel vigorously, and placed one hand preemptively on the engine controls.

"Hard starboard and cut across the enemy's bow, aye!"

The weapons operator tapped at his console and conversed quietly with the CIC, before glancing over his shoulder to make his report.

"CIC reports that we're ready and aimed!  Awaiting final fire command!"

A tense moment of relative calm descended on the bridge.  The overall roar of battle had long since been rationalized, accepted, and mostly ignored by the officer's brains.  Compared to the previous frenzy, the moment was more or less silent.

The Agincourt swung into view on the starboard side holo-windows, an enormous gray misshapen lump without a bow, set ablaze in several locations, and listing slightly to one side.  The acting Captain held his right hand up, breathless in anticipation of the opportune moment.

The helmsman abruptly shoved the throttle quadrant into the full-reverse position, generating screams of protest from North Carolina's mainline structural supports.  The bridge crew reflexively braced as inertia pushed them forward, and the deck angled downwards for a brief moment.

After another three seconds, the vessel stabilized, and the helmsman nodded.  The TAO dropped his hand, and shouted at the top of his lungs.

"FIRE!"

The Battleship rocked to port as her main battery went to work once more, showering the front of the Arsenal Ship with a lethal spray of superheated hypersonic rare earth metals.  The barrage was perfectly aimed, and immaculately timed.

Without good angles on her armor, and given the immense structural damage to the front of her island, the Agincourt was as prepared for the onslaught as tissue paper for a mortar shell.

The front of the ship peeled away in a gruesome fireball.  The few survivors on the crew were instantly reduced to ash as the superheated gases expanded into the vessel's corridors, cooking them to the deck where they stood.

The second volley fully penetrated the island, obliterating everything down to the core of the Arsenal Ship with the merciless fury of Newton's laws unbound.  The third, and final volley split the Agincourt's heart itself.

The shells lodged in the reactor casing, turning the nuclear material, coolant, and casing into a momentary miniature super nova.  North Carolina listed and crabbed sharply to port as Agincourt vanished into an expanding fireball, the once mighty vessel reduced to chunks no bigger than sawdust on the wind.

North Carolina's bridge erupted into cheers, shouts, applause and piercing whistles.  The TAO smiled, and collapsed into the nearest empty seat, exhaling sharply.  The celebratory moment was cut short almost instantly.  A series of shrill tones sounded, and the LADAR officer snapped his head around to read the telemetry on his console.

He glanced up, and his face turned stark white with fear.

"Sir...  The sub just surfaced and opened all VLS and torpedo hatches.  We're being painted with fire control LADAR."

A moment of silence passed.  There was nothing more to be said.  Every man and woman on the bridge, and manning the CIC, knew that the Battleship was no match for the submarine in her crippled state.  A single well placed missile volley would obliterate the entire island structure, effectively killing the Battleship where she lay.

The LADAR officer glanced back at his panel, and the TAO winced, bracing himself for the grim news.  To his surprise, the officer's voice bore a strong note of shock, and tellingly, a tinge of hope.

"Sir! We have a new contact entering the battle zone!"





The Columbia exploded through the surface of the ocean, breaching with enough force to bring nearly a third of the destroyer out of the water.  Before the vessel had even fully stabilized, her fore railgun lit off, pouring a stream of merciless fire into the Retribution's conning tower.

The Destroyer had arrived on Retribution's rear port quarter, placing them at a perfect angle to exploit the submarine's weakest points for all they were worth.  The Retribution's crew barely had time to comprehend the arrival of the new combatant, before another devastating hail of railgun rounds punctured the tower fully, killing everyone on the bridge where they stood.

Flames erupted from every port and hatchway in the superstructure as fire consumed several decks of internal space.  The Columbia's VLS tubes sprang to life next, dispatching a swarm of short range ship-to-ship warheads.

North Carolina's crew lost no time in taking advantage of the situation.  By the time the missiles had reached the apex of their trajectory, the Battleship's Helios gun was trained, and loaded.

Columbia fired again and again as her missiles impacted.  Shells flew from the destroyer, and shells flew from the Battleship, turning the submarine into the middle layer of a lethal sandwich of high velocity ordinance.

Retribution had been designed as a command and control submarine.  Her only combat advantages were stealth, and surprise.  Lacking those, she was little more than a target drone for the besieging warships.

No thought was given to quarter, or suggesting terms of surrender.

The North Carolina, and the Columbia, continued to fire until long after the onslaught of missiles and railgun rounds had shredded the submarine.  The two ships continued to bombard the debris field until what remained of the enemy vessel was reduced to parts small enough to float on their own buoyancy.





As the light show went on below, Fyrenn allowed himself a wide smile.

"Now isn't that a beautiful sight."

The red Gryphon glanced in his rearview mirror, and nodded slowly as he throttled back.

"The ECM field should be down.  See if you can raise Atlantic Naval command."

Neyla fiddled with her panel for a moment, dialing in several frequencies in turn, before glancing up, and returning the nod.

"I have a signal from the Norfolk Naval Air Station."

Fyrenn's grin widened, and he tapped his headset to cycle over to the appropriate channel, before speaking once more.

"Mayday Mayday Mayday.  Norfolk Naval Air Station; Flight of one SeaHawk, designator Lightning One, attached to North Carolina Battlegroup at three four point three five, by negative seven five point two one.  Requesting any and all possible support.  Crippled aircraft in low fuel situation, two friendly vessels with extreme critical damage, and one ship down."

After several seconds, a young female voice issued forth from the Gryphons' headsets.

"Lightning One, this is Norfolk Naval Air Station.  Patching you through to Northcom Atlantic Fleet center, and passing on your report, please standby."

Fyrenn chuckled, and inclined his head.

"Understood Norfolk but be advised, if we have to wait too long, we'll be making a very wet landing."

A minute and a half of silence passed before the next radio call came in.  A gruff older male voice piped through the headsets without prelude.

"Lightning One, this is Admiral Jethrin, North Atlantic Fleetcom.  We are dispatching Light Carrier Appalachian, Destroyer Raleigh, and two combat service tenders to your location.  I understand you're bingo-fuel at this time?"

Fyrenn tapped his microphone, and nodded as he spoke.

"That would be affirmative sir. Less than ten percent onboard and dropping.  This craft has no VTOL capacity.  Columbia's aft deck is too short to take us, and North Carolina has lost her rear receiving mechanism.  How shall we proceed?"

After a pause, Admiral Jethrin came back on the comm.  His tone was slightly skeptical, but he voiced his suggestion nonetheless.

"Lightning one;  Appalachian has been transiting from duty off the southern tip of Florida, to provide late action reinforcement.  My LADAR controllers say that based on your position report, you are sixty miles due north of her.  Can you make that distance?  If not, you are advised to bail out and await SAR."

The red Gryphon chuckled, and inclined his head as he tapped his microphone once more.

"Well...  Conventional wisdom says no.  But I'm game to give it a shot, for kicks."
> Chapter 65
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 7th, Gregorian Calendar

"Lightning One, North Carolina..."

Fyrenn had to actively restrain himself to keep from shouting into the microphone.  He had first asked for an update on Stan, and the assault party, nearly fifteen minutes prior.  He held his tongue, allowing Neyla to take the call in order to spare the ship's radio officer an earful.

The Gryphoness' tone betrayed a sense of impatience to Fyrenn, but it was well in check, and imperceptible to the Battleship's communications officer.

"North Carolina, Lightning One;  Ready for status update."

"Lightning One;  I've been asked to inform you that Mr. Carradan is safe.  He sustained moderate injuries in the course of defending the ship, and he is slated for transfer to a dirt-side medical facility, but he is stable, conscious, and asking for information about your situation."

Neyla smiled slightly, and tapped her microphone transmit key.

"North Carolina, please let him know that we're safe.  Keep the Appalachian appraised of his destination and travel information, tell him we'll catch up with him as soon as we can."

Fyrenn's impatience quickly got the better of him.  Before Neyla could say anything else, and before the voice at the other end of the line could even acknowledge her requests, the red Gryphon interjected forcefully.

"Do you have any information on the platform assault team?"

A brief, but telling pause ensued, after which the radio officer's voice lost all semblance of forced professionalism.  To Fyrenn, the man simply sounded exhausted and dejected.

"Negative Lightning One.  They haven't reported back."

The red Gryphon closed his eyes momentarily, forcing himself to swallow the torrent of rising emotions that the words had set free.  He kept his beak firmly shut, allowing Neyla to finish the call.

"Understood.  Keep us apprised of the situation."

Several minutes of silence passed.  Fyrenn spent the majority of the time staring out at the horizon, doing his best to resist the urge to contact the Battleship once more and pointlessly demand more information.

As the SeaHawk passed out of the trailing edge of the squall, and into calmer air, Neyla glanced down at her telemetry readouts.  The Gryphoness raised an eyebrow, and broke the silence at last.

"We just dropped under five percent fuel."

Fyrenn nodded, and exhaled slowly before responding.

"If you want to get out now, I have absolutely no objection.  Now that we're clear of the hard radiation?  I'm only doing this so I have something difficult to concentrate on."

Neyla snorted, and shook her head.  Her tone made it clear that she was dealing with the same struggle to maintain calm, deep down.

"And miss your showboating?  Hardly."

The Gryphoness glanced at her main panel once more, before speaking again with a much more focused tone.

"I have the carrier's transceiver.  Direction one eight seven true, range thirty two miles."

Fyrenn pressed the right rudder pedal down slightly, pushed the control column forward a half inch, and pulled back slightly on the throttle.

"Alright.  We should contact the carrier and declare our position and ETA, then we can run a quick check on all systems.  Especially the damaged ones."





"Crew overboard!  Starboard side!"

Batting away a particularly noxious waft of smoke, the lieutenant rushed to the railing of the Battleship's fore deck, and peered over the side.  It barely took the woman a second to realize that, what had first looked like a group of sailors in the water, was something altogether different.

The objects rose from the sea on twin bursts of air, showering the surrounding deck plating with small droplets of water.  As the drenched forms of a speckled Gryphon, a tan Unicorn, and a golden Gryphon came to rest on the deck, the lieutenant stood, mouth agape.

Kephic released Skye from an underslung carry-hold, and the little Pony promptly began to shiver violently, teeth chattering as if in time to an unseen drum.  Varan inclined his head towards the stunned officer, and voiced an explanation in the simplest terms he could articulate.

"We were concerned about radiation.  The ocean afforded the best protection given the circumstances."

The golden Gryphon paused, then jerked his head first towards Skye, then at the nearest hatchway.

"I believe Skye would appreciate a blanket, and something hot to drink."

To her credit, the lieutenant immediately turned to shepherd the Unicorn away towards the island structure.  In spite of her continued state of shock, the officer didn't even pause to look back.

Kephic snorted, and shook himself violently to remove the outermost layer of droplets from his feathers.  He stretched, speaking around a reflexive yawn in the process.

"Well from the lieutenant's expression, you'd think they had no idea we could swim."

Varan dipped his head, and sighed.

"One might think."

The speckled Gryphon inhaled slowly, and carefully refolded his wings into a more comfortable position, before speaking again.

"We'd best find out what sort of trouble Stan got up to."

Varan dipped his head once more, and blinked.

"You look after Stan.  I will see to Skye.  I doubt that a warm dry place and a hot drink will be enough to restore her peace."





"Appalachian, this is Lightning One;  Descending through angels three, distance four point two miles, requesting landing clearance and information."

Fyrenn paused to await a response, and double checked his own visual reference.  The light carrier was easily visible thanks to the clearer weather in the region, and the red Gryphon found that he could make out the individual components of the capture bar, and the optical landing system.

The Carrier's Airboss came back over the headset, bringing both Gryphons' thoughts back on track.

"Lightning One, Airboss;  Carrier has turned to heading one five niner for landing operations.  Standard approach pattern, Cleared to trap.  No other traffic at this time.  Switching you to the LSO."

Fyrenn glanced back over his shoulder at Neyla, and nodded.

"Here we go.  Descending to eight hundred.  Hook down, master arm to off, and safe position."

Neyla bent over her panel and lifted a large yellow and black cover, deftly toggling the large lever beneath.

"Hook down."

The Gryphoness reached over and reset the master arm switches, double checking the status lights to ensure the fighter's weapon systems were offline, and secured.

"Master arm off, safe."

Both Gryphons glanced to the left side of the canopy, and down, as the jet passed the carrier on the vessel's starboard side.  Fyrenn pushed the jet into a dive-turn, and deployed spoilers with the flick of a talon.

As the SeaHawk shed both speed, and altitude, the LSO's voice sprang from the headset intercom. 

"Lightning One, LSO;  Be advised we have a pitching deck, and a mild crosswind from the southeast at four knots.  What is your aircraft status?"

Fyrenn traded a brief, amused glanced with Neyla, before reactivating his headset.

"LSO, Lightning One;  We lost our right fuel tank, and we're sucking on fumes.  Our aircraft is in a stripped condition.  No auto-throttle or digital landing system interface present.  We have to do this manually, on optics alone, if we're doing it at all."

A few moments of silence passed, during which Fyrenn brought the SeaHawk down towards six hundred feet, and brought the craft into a wide one hundred eighty degree turn.  As he carefully manipulated the stick and throttle, he continued calling off pre-landing procedures.

"Gear down.  Flaps down."

Neyla nodded, and pulled back on a large orange toggle on the right side of her console.  As the wheels deployed, accompanied by the whine of hydraulic rams, Fyrenn pushed the flaps to their maximum deployed setting, and pulled the throttle back to one third thrust.

"Gear down."

The Gryphoness glanced up as she spoke, and Fyrenn nodded into his rearview mirror.

"Flaps at full."

The SeaHawk pulled level on the carrier's port side as the LSO's voice came back on the comm.

"Lightning One, to be honest, I'd rather see you ditch the plane than risk a ramp strike.  I'll give you one shot at this.  If I wave you off, go to full power, come port of the carrier, take it out four miles, and ditch.  Understand?"

Fyrenn tapped his mic, and glanced to the left side of the canopy.  In spite of the late afternoon lightning conditions, he could easily make out the LSO's face, and even see his lips purse as the response reached him.

"Understood.  We don't have enough fuel for a second pass anyhow.  No unnecessary risks."

The red Gryphon glanced over his shoulder, and knit his brow, opening his beak only once he was sure that he was off comm.

"How fast do you think you could cut yourself out of your harness, and bail?"

Neyla glanced down at the cinches encircling her chest and shoulders, then back up with a steely determined expression, matched by her tone.

"As quickly as needs-be."

Fyrenn nodded, and leaned back, gripping a large pair of caution-striped levers behind his head.

"I'm going to lose the canopy then.  If I say go, you go.  You don't wait for me, you don't hesitate, you bail.  You let *me* worry about me, and the aircraft."

As if to lend emphasis to his imperative, Fyrenn pulled down hard on the latches.  The canopy blew away from the fighter, propelled by eight tiny symmetrical ejection charges.  For the Gryphons, the change in cockpit conditions was relatively minor.

Both regularly flew at similar speeds without the benefit of a cabin, or windscreen in the first place.  Fyrenn called out over his shoulder, increasing the volume of his voice to ensure Neyla heard.

"Final landing checklist!"

The Gryphoness nodded, and began calling out the pre-memorized set of instructions.

"Retract spoilers!"

Fyrenn reached for the appropriate lever, and pressed it into the locked retracted position, before calling out completion.

"Retracted, locked!"

The pattern repeated itself in a swift, well oiled sequence that most career aviators would have envied.

"Confirm master arm secure!"

"Master arm secured, and safe!"

"Confirm hook down!"

"Confirmed, down and locked!"

"Confirm flaps deployed!"

"Confirmed, full notch!"

"Confirm gear down!"

"Confirmed.  Three solid green lights!"

"Set throttle to quarter thrust and secure afterburners in safe-mode!"

Fyrenn pulled back gently on the throttle once more, and flicked two red toggles on the inner surface of the lever's connecting shaft.

"Quarter thrust.  Descending through flight level six hundred now. Afterburners secured and safed!"

He pushed the stick left and forward, gently depressing the left side rudder pedal simultaneously, holding the turn silently for a long moment, the wind whipping playfully at his ears and crest.

At last, the Appalachian swung into view dead ahead, and only a few hundred feet below.  Fyrenn pulled the SeaHawk back into a level flight configuration, and clicked his headset mic twice to alert the LSO.

"Lightning One, you are in the groove.  Looking good so far.  Keep that pitching deck in mind, and don't let the crosswind sneak up on you.  Call the ball when ready."

Fyrenn exhaled slowly, and focused every neuron in his brain on the tiny postage stamp of steel and concrete beneath him.

"Appalachian; Two-oh-one, SeaHawk; Ball!  Point Nine four!  Manual!"

"Roger Ball."

As the carrier deck rose swiftly to meet the bottom of the fighter, an insistent alert tone began to sound from Neyla's panel.  Fyrenn flicked one ear backward to take in the bad news as he fought the subtleties of the crosswind, crabbing the fighter slightly to the left.

"That's a compressor stall warning light!"

"Two-oh-one, you're starting to fall below the glide path.  Give it some power!"

Fyrenn continued to allow the SeaHawk to plummet, only slightly increasing the throttle, his eyes practically welded to the deck and the meatball apparatus. 

"Corrections look good.  Hold that line, and then add power at fifty feet!"

He waited until the last possible moment, pitched the nose up slightly, and rammed the throttle quadrant home to its maximum setting.  For almost two seconds, the engines managed to deliver full thrust.

The SeaHawk leapt upwards from the margins, into the optimal portion of the glidepath.  The tail hook snagged the first spur of the torsion bar.

Both engines coughed, and died as the nose wheel came down hard, and the magnetic landing retention system kicked in.  Fyrenn and Neyla were briefly thrown against their safety harnesses as the craft jerked to a stop.

And then just as violently as it had begun, it was over.  A small drone tug pulled up to the jet's front wheel and latched on, as flight deck crew swarmed the rear of the craft, letting off a smattering of applause, and disengaging the tail hook, checking to ensure there were no latent hazards in the process, such as unknown fuel leaks.

Neyla snorted as Fyrenn sat back, and sighed in relief.  The Gryphoness sliced her way carefully out of her seat harness, and rose to look over the canopy divider into Fyrenn's face.

"You know, there are some who would have called that pointless effort and stress."

Fyrenn opened his eyes, and smiled, pointing to the blue feather tucked into his crest.

"Some, yes.  But they obviously don't fly as often as we do."

Neyla smirked, and raised one eyebrow.

"I was wondering how long it would take you to realize that little gold wings on a jacket don't hold a candle to the real thing."

Fyrenn mimicked the Gryphoness' gesture, raising one eyebrow as he spoke in a humorously nonchalant tone.

"I had that figured out the first time I ever spread my own two wings.  That being said?  I always did want to get a shot at doing this.  Just once."

The Gryphoness chuckled, and took a mock swipe at the top of Fyrenn's head.  He ducked halfheartedly, but Neyla's claw still ruffled his ears as it passed.

"I was wrong;  You do have some vague conception of subtlety after all.  Just... Not *much.*"

Fyrenn smirked as he cut away his harness with one talon, and vaulted to the deck.  He stretched both wings, and all fours legs in turn as the deck crew pulled the SeaHawk away towards a clear elevator pad.

"You should be aware, if you really want to delve into any sort of relationship, that this is just about as subtle as I get."

Before Neyla could verbally riposte, an officer came dashing across the deck from the direction of the island structure.  The woman pulled up short, and paused, confused as to whether or not she should offer a salute.

Fyrenn's expression was powerful enough to break her stupor almost instantly.  There was no anger, nor frustration on the Gryphon's face.  Just simple, but painfully heartfelt concern.

"Sir!  Ma'am!  I just came from CIC.  There's a message for you from the North Carolina."





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 8th, Gregorian Calendar

"Ya know, you really ought to go on and get some shut eye.  It's after one in the morning."

Stan brought his head up from its bed of pillows, and fixed his gaze on Skye as he spoke.  The Unicorn rolled her eyes, sighed, and sat back shaking her head slowly.

"Not just yet."

Kephic yawned, and stretched his wings.  The action underscored the cramped nature of the hospital room, as each wingtip brushed up against an opposite wall.  The space barely had room for Stan, his bed, and Kephic.  Varan and Skye were crammed into opposite corners.  Space had ultimately been freed by removing all non-essential furniture and equipment into the corridor.

Carradan had put up a valiant struggle, desperately vying for the freedom to be dismissed with a clean bill of health.  Ultimately it had all been in vain, thanks to Doctor Chandler.  The North Carolina's CMO had put the Pegasus on the first VTOL out carrying non-critical patients, with orders to deliver him to Naval Medical Center Portsmouth.

Though Stan and his companions had arrived several hours after the main casualties, the center was still on high alert by the time the Pegasus had been assigned a room.  The buzz of urgent activity had stretched on long into the night, finally fading around eleven.  

The Gryphons both knew that meant that the battle had taken a severe toll on the ships' crews, but they elected not to say anything.  By unspoken agreement, they had both decided not to mention anything that might unnecessarily remind Skye of the death she had so recently witnessed.

Varan reached up to the back of his neck and massaged a sore cluster of muscles.  His exhaustion manifested as a subtle, but noticeable change in the cadence of his words.

"When everyone has arrived safely, then we will worry about sleep."

As if in response to the words, a loud knock issued from the door.  Kephic leaned over and pressed the access control, allowing the frosted glass and steel panel to slide back.  Instantly, a russet and blue blur whipped past, bounding up onto the bed and smothering Stan in a feathery embrace.

Carradan coughed, wheezed, and barely managed to force out a desperate request for air.

"Mmmph! A little less squeeze kiddo..."

Alyra sat back, and blushed slightly.

"Sorry.  They told us you'd been injured, but they didn't say much more than that."

Hutch waved from his position in the hallway.  Beside him, Sildinar had taken up a seated position.  The roan Gryphon inclined his head, and offered Stan a reassuring smile.  Mercifully, neither seemed interested in adding to the over congestion in Stan's room.

Hutch chuckled, and shook his head.

"In her defense, they were pretty non-specific.  I'd be more upset if they weren't so badly swamped.  You guys took a heck of a thrashing out there."

Kephic blinked and turned to stare out the window, muttering under his breath.

"That's certainly an understatement."

The General nodded, and exhaled slowly before responding.

"We can discuss the specifics of casualties later.  This is probably not the best time, or place."

Kephic glanced back to the door, and smiled slightly as he returned the nod in silence.  Alyra leapt from the bed, and loped gracefully back to the corridor, glancing up at Sildinar as she sat back on her haunches.

The roan Gryphon chuckled, and reached behind his back, producing Fyrenn's sword from a standard issue utility scabbard, and passing it to the fledgling.  Stan's eyes widened, and he leaned forward.

"How the heck did you get that past hospital security?"

Hutch snorted, and pinched the bridge of his nose.  The exhalation turned into a wry chuckle as he attempted to answer the question with a straight face, failing miserably.

"Oh security wanted her to check it in at the front desk...  She told them it was her father's, and that she would not part with it under any circumstances.  The look she gave that Corpsman was downright terrifying."

"I suppose her father is already rubbing off on her."

Hutch and Sildinar turned in response to Neyla's words, just in time to see Alyra canon the Gryphoness, and Fyrenn.  The fledgling pulled both Neyla and Fyrenn into a hug with her wings, squeezing their necks together, and bringing the blade of the sword perilously close to Fyrenn's beak.

Alyra released the pair, and sat back, holding up the sword with both claws.  Fyrenn reached out and took the weapon, smiling in spite of the circumstances.

"Thank you for looking after it.  I think it served you better than it could have served me, this go-round."

The fledgling pressed forward again, nuzzling up into the hollow of Fyrenn's neck.  As Fyrenn sheltered his daughter with his right wing, she mumbled into the fur and feathers of his neck, her voice cracking slightly with emotion.

"I'm so glad you're safe!"

Fyrenn passed the sword back to Sildinar, and pulled Alyra into a full embrace with both forelegs, pressing his beak up against her left wing.

"Oh come now.  You knew I'd be back in one piece.  I'd never die without my sword in my claws."

Alyra sat back, and narrowed her eyes, flattening her ears against the side of her head in a sign of mild exasperation.

"Well next time, I'm going with you, just to be sure."

Neyla smirked, and pulled Alyra close with both wings.  The fledgling giggled in spite of herself as Neyla set about preening the younger Gryphoness' primaries into a more presentable state.  Neyla sat back, and spoke as she evaluated her work, allowing Alyra to nestle between her left wing and her side.

"I could certainly use some help ensuring he behaves himself in future."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and snorted.

"No collusion, please.  Each of you is a clawfull enough on your own."

The red Gryphon turned to enter the room proper, shaking his head slowly.  Kephic, Skye, and Varan dutifully vacated to provide space for the new arrivals.  Hutch and Sildinar followed Fyrenn, taking up positions around Stan's bed.

Fyrenn spoke first, suppressing a reflexive chuckle as he did so.

"You look terrible.  It's something of an improvement."

Carradan rolled his eyes, and grunted.

"Har de har har.  Nurse says I can leave tomorrow...  But I'll do anything if you'll break me outta here tonight.  The food is deeeeesGUSting!"

Hutch winced, and nodded.

"I empathize."

Sildinar chuckled, and leveled one index talon at the Pegasus.

"You could take it as an opportunity to cut back a little."

Fyrenn shook his head, and smiled.

"That's just not his style."

The red Gryphon paused, glanced at the hallway out of the corner of his eye, then lowered his tone to keep the conversation within the bounds of the room.

"They told us about Lantry, but they didn't say how it happened..."

Stan nodded, and his face fell.  He lowered his tone as well, and leaned forward to bring his muzzle closer to the group.

"Those three didn't say much, but Kephic told me that he fell on a grenade to save Skye.  She saw it happen.  I think she's good 'n shook up by it, though I'll bet she'll be alright given enough time.  It don't think it's really hit the rest of us yet."

Sildinar inclined his head, and sighed.

"Well, you are all exhausted.  Seldom does the full emotional impact of a battle settle until at least one night's sleep has passed."

Hutch gestured with one thumb towards Skye, who was slumped dejectedly against the opposite wall of the corridor.

"She's gonna need some help handling this.  Everyone does the first time they lose someone that way."

Fyrenn, and the remainder of the group watched in silence as Alyra made her way across the hall, and draped one wing comfortingly over Skye's shoulders.  

Sildinar smiled, and nodded slowly.

"She has a wonderful family.  I think she will have all the help she needs."
> Chapter 66
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 9th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn exhaled sharply as the echoes of the final shots of the three volley salute died away.  The morning was relatively calm, but foggy.  The gray pallor hung over everything, even the light of the rising sun, lending an eerie aspect to the proceeding.

To his surprise, he and his family were not the only Equestrians present for the ceremony.  The number of Human officers and civilians certainly outnumbered them by far, but there were several other Ponies, a Zebra, and even a Dragon present for the occasion.

All had some sort of relationship to the dead officers from Columbia, North Carolina, or Indianapolis, which suggested to Fyrenn that the others were, like him, mostly converts.

He sighed once again, and gazed out over the rows of coffins.  The scene was eerily similar to the day he'd buried an empty coffin representing Skye.  Though the pain wasn't nearly as piercing as it had been at the time, it was by no means easier to subsume.

The Indianapolis had been his home for several years.  Though he had never formed any deeply meaningful relationships with the crew, he found himself bereaved by the loss of life nonetheless.  The blow felt personal.

All told, counting casualties from all three crews, the dead numbered just shy of seven hundred.  Over half of that number was represented by the Indianapolis crew.  There had been no survivors.

Part of the ceremony had been dedicated to General Lantry, given his rank, and his key role in the victory.  Fyrenn had taken no official part, but he, like the rest of the group, had elected to come and pay his respects all the same.  Carradan and Sildinar had graciously volunteered to tend to Alyra.  Fyrenn had been insistent that she not be subjected to another burial ceremony so soon after the last.

As such, in the midst of the thousands of observers;  Fyrenn, Hutch, Skye, Kephic, Varan, and Neyla stood as the only mourners for General Lantry.

Few could say that had known the officer particularly well, and he lacked any living family members.  His folded flag had been passed on to a nameless officer, to be delivered to some suitable place in one of Arlington's buildings, there to be enshrined until the cemetery was one day consumed.

"Was this what it was like?"

With a start, Fyrenn realized that the group was now standing in an empty field.  The official ceremony was over.  In the distance, officers, and families of the deceased, were walking down the lines of coffins, paying their last respects.

The red Gryphon glanced down to see Skye sitting beside him on her haunches.  He reached out and placed his right wing on her shoulders as he spoke.

"When we 'buried' you?"

Fyrenn paused, and shifted his gaze back to the horizon.

"Yes.  Only worse.  I have come to respect Lantry...  But I can't really say if I ever liked him.  Especially given that he's the one who let us all believe you were under a tombstone.  He always seemed too political for a soldier."

Skye nodded slowly, and exhaled, her breath turning to a visible mist in the frosty air as she spoke.

"I understand why you'd say that.  Me?  I guess I'd say he was a friend.  Not a close friend, really...  But a friend.  He saved me.  His choices allowed me to save you.  That warrants him some leeway don't you think?"

Fyrenn nodded and glanced down once more at the Unicorn's doleful visage.  Hutch spoke up, hands stuffed into his dress jacket pockets to ward off the chill.

"He saved us all, insofar as we know.  That warrants all the leeway in the world."

Varan added his thoughts with his typical dispassion.

"Indeed."

The Unicorn shook her head slowly, and sniffed, wiping away latent tears from the corners of her eyes.

"I keep...  Replaying it.  Over and over.  Asking myself why...  Why he was even there...  Why it had to be him..."

Kephic turned and knelt down, bringing his face level with Skye's.  He waited until she had locked gazes with him to speak.

"Listen carefully, because I expect you to hear this and understand it.  He was there because he chose to be there.  He died, because he chose to make a necessary sacrifice.  And he certainly would not approve of you hashing out pointless speculation and recriminations over and over."

The speckled Gryphon's visage softened, and he placed one comforting claw on Skye's left shoulder as he continued in a kinder tone.

"He was aware that you, and I, and Varan are relatively young.  And he was not.  He decided that his life was a worthwhile trade, so that we could continue to live ours.  Irrespective of species, that is a decision any noble warrior is entitled to make, when it comes down to it.  He wanted a meaningful death, in battle.  And he wanted you to accept that, and move on."

As his brother rose, Fyrenn offered him a warm smile, and a slight nod.  Kephic returned the smile, and wordlessly began the long walk back to the VTOL pads.  One by one, the rest of the group trailed after him.

Fyrenn went last, ensuring that Skye did not linger for an overly long time.  As he shepherded the Unicorn down the hill, he cast one last look at the rows of steel military-issue coffins.

He inclined his head, and spoke softly into the fog.

"It was not in vain."





"To the victorious dead."

Ten glasses, mugs, and tankards clanged together in a haphazard cacophony, as nine other voices repeated Sildinar's toast.

"To the victorious dead!"

A long moment of silence descended on the room as the group nursed their various beverages.  Aside from the ten, there were no other occupants in the Bureau's cafeteria.  Technically the facility had shut down, and only security guards and technicians remained, stripping the structure of useful materials panel by panel.

Even the overhead lights had been shut off, save for the cluster above the group's table.  The emptiness of the structure left an ache in Fyrenn's soul that he found difficult to put into words.

If any place on Earth could have been called his terrestrial home, after the Indianapolis, then the Manhattan Conversion Bureau was it.  Soon the latter would follow the former into oblivion.

Fyrenn glanced at each of his companions in turn as they took in the moment of peaceful silence.  Alyra was calmly studying the other members of the group with quiet fascination, taking strength from their experience in coping with loss.

Neyla was staring back at the red Gryphon, carefully evaluating what tells she could garner from his own expression.  Hutch and Aston were sharing a soft, mutually comforting gaze.

Kephic, Stan, and Varan seemed to be watching Skye intently, all doing their best to avoid detection in the process.  Sildinar, like Fyrenn and Alyra, seemed intent on observing the group as a whole.

Fyrenn, at last, took it upon himself to break the silence, before it transitioned from respectful, to uncomfortable, or morose.

"So...  Here we all are.  Right back where it started."

Hutch snorted, and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah...  With you and your cuss-darn stubborn attachment to one gold and gray potion crate."

Alyra giggled, and hid her face behind her mug.

"Those weren't exactly the words you used when you told me the story."

Fyrenn took his turn to raise an eyebrow, piercing Hutch with mock severity in his eyes.

"Is that so?"

Neyla interrupted the train of thought before it could spiral away into a bantering match.

"What happens now?  Where will we all go from here?"

Aston leaned forward as she chipped in, working her fingers around her mug to transfer heat from the coffee, into her sore joints.

"Well Hutch and I have been told to report to Northcom Charlotte to await our next duty stations."

Hutch sighed, and sat back, staring down into his mug as he spoke, as if answers lay somewhere under the grounds at the bottom of the liquid.

"The rest of the world may not know exactly what happened out there, but Military Command sure does.  Second time in a month that there was nearly a catastrophic loss of life due to infiltration of the military command structure..."

The General glanced up, and looked to each member of the group in turn as he continued in a somber tone.

"It looks like there's a hell of a storm coming.  Biggest shakeup to the military-political structure since the Earthgov military was formed.  Fyrenn's recent interventions have only made the situation that much more fraught."

Stan leaned forward, and set his mug down on the table, wincing as he pulled at one of his sore ribs.

"I heard a rumor that the officer corps got together with JAG, and wants to dismantle the whole upper structure.  Vote out the admirals and generals, cut off Council authority, and re-organize the entire shebang under the mantle of the JRSF, with the exception of the Police."

Sildinar nodded slowly, taking a long sip of his drink before speaking.

"Your source is likely correct.  I've been asked to attend mid-level meetings with a dozen Captains, Commanders, and assorted other non-flag officers.  I've also been contacted by a representative from the Council, and asked to attend a summit later this month to 'seek cooperation on further joint military endeavors.'"

Kephic snorted, and flicked one ear in agitation as he voiced the unspoken remainder of the thought.

"That's just a fancy Human way of saying that they want to negotiate to keep control of the military, tighten their grip if possible."

Fyrenn nodded, and reached for the large vat in the center of the table, dipping his mug into the steaming liquid and pulling it back out once more, full to the brim.

"It's also a handy way of reassuring the populace that they have power and standing.  Change, for the sake of change.  Heads have to roll.  Promises have to be made.  People need to be placated on all sides.  But if the officer corps wants to move to a more self-directed structure with closer species co-operation, and no Council oversight, then the tides have well and truly changed.  There's a fight coming.  A big one.  The Council, and their sponsoring corpos, won't loose their grips on this planet quietly."

Carradan chuckled, and lifted his mug once more with one hoof.

"Yeah, well, if the tight-pants schemers think they're going to bury the Echelon Twelve mess, they're sorely mistaken."

All eyes turned to focus on the Pegasus as he slurped down half of the contents of his tankard in a single go.  Stan lowered the mug, wiped his muzzle with his free hoof, and voiced the answer to the unsaid questions.

"I've decided to stay here, Earthside I mean, for a few weeks.  Two, maybe three at the most.  I still have strong connections in media, and they're dyin' for me to spill the beans on my experiences over these last three years."

Stan turned to fix his eyes on Fyrenn, smirking slightly as he continued.

"I ain't promsin' that I'll condone every single thing you did.  But I can sure promise you that I won't let them sweep their crimes under a rug.  I'm gonna make sure everyone takes a good, *hard* look at what happened.  So it never happens again."

The Pegasus sat back, and belched softly, before finishing his thought.

"When I've finished trashin' a few careers, and burnin' a few bridges, I'll catch up with you guys.  Maybe I'll ask dear sweet prince here to be my chauffeur for the trip home."

Carradan offered Sildinar a sideways glance, and a brief smile.  Skye sighed, and shrugged, offering her thoughts up to stave off silence.

"I suppose I'll be going back to work in the library at Canterlot.  There's a long way to go with the archive project, and not a lot of time in the grand scheme...  Even less since we blew up that retarder platform.  It'll take them three months to replace it, and by that time we'll have lost nine relative months of time in terms of the Barrier's progress."

Alyra shook her head, and her beak turned down.

"Won't you at least come back home with us first?  You still haven't finished telling me that story about the time---"

Skye smiled wanly, and held up a hoof.

"Whoa there girlfriend.  Your father does not need to know that I'm recounting that harrowing tale to you."

Fyrenn glowered good naturedly at the Unicorn.  In response, she chuckled, and shook her head slowly.  Her smile, restrained though it was, seemed to bring a few degrees of warmth to the room.

After a moment of silence, Skye nodded, and spoke quietly into her mug.

"Oh fine.  It isn't as if I'm clocking in or out on some kinda schedule." 

Alyra beamed, and Fyrenn sat back, smiling his thanks in Skye's direction.  Deep down, he felt even more grateful to his daughter, for instinctively recognizing that the last thing Skye needed at the moment was to be alone in a dusty vault.

The red Gryphon soon realized that everyone's gaze had shifted to him.  He shrugged, and sighed.

"Well...  I'm due back in court tomorrow afternoon."

Aston glanced up sharply, and leveled a finger.

"Yes, and that's your own fault.  I have half a mind to root for the prosecution."

Fyrenn fixed her with his gaze, and nodded slowly.

"I own my actions.  With no regret.  And to be honest...  It doesn't matter who you root for.  I'm only attending the proceeding as a favor, so that something good will come of a friend's efforts in... Other areas."

Neyla stepped in swiftly once more, to prevent a decidedly more icy escalation from taking place.

"We, that is to say the rest of us, will leave late tomorrow, once the proceedings are completed."

Hutch snorted into his mug, and glanced up at the Gryphoness.

"And if they aren't?  I've seen cases like this drag on for months."

Fyrenn chuckled wryly, and took a long sip of his coffee before answering, perking his ears slightly in amusement.

"Oh trust me, we'll be finished before sunset.  Period.  And after that?  I don't intend to be caught up in anything else for at least a few months."

The red Gryphon spread one wing and cupped it around Alyra, smiling warmly down at the fledgling.

"I have a daughter to raise.  That's really all that I want on my mind right now."

Neyla sighed quietly, and nodded, leaning forward and refilling her mug.

"We could all use some clear, cool, quiet, joyful days."

Stan raised his mug high, and snorted.

"I'll drink to that sister-of-mine."

Fyrenn brought his mug up, and nodded.

"Here here."

The rest of the group joined in, then sat back in silence once more.  After nearly a minute, Stan leaned forward with a mischievous gleam in his eyes.  He raised one hoof, and pointed at the blue feather in Fyrenn's crest.

"So.  Spill it flyboy.  Is that your people's version of an engagement ring or somethin'?"

Fyrenn glowered good naturedly, and shook his head.

"No, not precisely.  Think of it as..."

He paused, and glanced over at Neyla.  The two Gryphons shared a long, emotion laden stare, before Fyrenn finished the thought.

"Think of it as a promise."

Skye blinked, and muttered into her mug.

"Yeah, well this time you better pick up what's being put down."

The red Gryphon threw up his claws, and rolled his eyes.

"Am I honestly receiving relationship advice from an intellectual basement dweller, and a reporter who's dating a Changeling?"

Aston widened her eyes, and glanced away to the side, nodding.

"MmmmHMMM...  And take it from me...  You better listen to them, before they tie you to your lady friend, and dump you in aforementioned basement to sort out your issues."

The conversation devolved into fits of laughter at the image.  As the night wore on, the talk turned to simple, pleasant, even pointless topics.  The musings of ten people about to go their separate ways.





Fyrenn sat back on his haunches, staring up at the rising moon as it crested the Equestrian horizon, and bathed the empty city in silver light.

"It's over.  I made sure of it.  Nothing left for them to build on.  No corners for them to hide in."

The red Gryphon glanced over at the simple grave marker, and sighed.  The earth still showed signs of being recently disturbed.

"Your sister...  Is a marvel, and a gift.  You did an incredible job of keeping her alive...  Keeping her sane...  Keeping her squared away.  I wish that I'd been able to take you both..."

Fyrenn sighed, and bit back his tears as his voice cracked.  After a moment, he rose, and stared out at the horizon.  Even the New York harbor was empty.  The last ships had been moved to Virginia earlier in the day, along with what remained of the North Carolina, and her battlegroup.

After he had regained some composure, Fyrenn turned back to the grave and produced an object from the hollow of his neck.  He reached out and twirled one wooden prop blade, smiling down at the little model that had been a staple of playtime in his younger years.

He exhaled softly, and placed the miniature Lightning on the soil, beside the javelin Neyla had sunk into the ground as a marker.

"Look after it for me.  I can't take it with me."

An indeterminate length of silence passed.  Fyrenn stood, staring out at the city, imprinting every last detail on his mind.  With a shudder, he realized at last, on a deep emotional level, that he would never see it again.

He didn't hear the visitor's approach, so much as he felt it.  He glanced to his left, and confirmed his suspicions.  Celestia stood in respectful silence for a moment, before speaking softly.

"Neyla said I'd likely find you here."

Fyrenn nodded, and exhaled slowly.

"Finishing things up.  Tying off the last loose end."

The Alicorn returned the nod, and smiled sadly down at the grave, and the token Fyrenn had placed there.

"I won't pretend to excuse some of the things you've done...  But I will admit that I am not entirely incapable of empathizing.  I have implicitly asked your kind to do similar things to protect mine on occasion.  It only makes sense you would do the same in defense of your former home."

Another moment of silence passed.  Celestia glanced up to follow Fyrenn's line of sight, and spent a brief moment taking in the darkened city before speaking again.

"Vanity of vanities, says the Preacher, vanity of vanities!  All is vanity.  What does man gain by all the toil at which he toils under the sun?  There is no remembrance of former things, nor will there be any remembrance of later things yet to be among those who come after."

Fyrenn snorted, and raised an eyebrow, locking eyes with the monarch.

"Ecclesiastes One.  Verses two, three, and eleven."

Celestia's eyes widened slightly, and she dipped her head, her tone taking on a vague aura of respect.

"Solomon certainly had a way with words.  I see you have studied this 'Bible,' then?"

The red Gryphon smirked, and nodded.

"Yes, I have."

After a pause, Fyrenn returned his gaze to the city, and the moon high above.  When he spoke once more, the surety and depth of his tone surprised Celestia.

"Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm, for love is strong as death, jealousy is fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, the very flame of the Lord.  Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it."

Celestia raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head.  The Gryphon turned to glance back at her, and grinned as he allayed her confusion.

"Also Solomon's words, just one book over.  You have to understand, Ecclesiastes is meant as a study in contrasts, between a life with and without the anchor of Faith.  The former pointless in every way.  The latter the only thing true and worthwhile.  Solomon was by no means a pessimist."

The Alicorn blinked, and chuckled wryly.

"I'm afraid you have caught me out.  I have not yet finished my study of the Old Testament, nor begun the New."

Fyrenn waggled his head, and sighed.

"I know, it can be hard to push through some of it...  But think of it as vital perspective on what's happening here and now.  For all intents and purposes, people here are facing the end of days.  Or the next nearest thing."

Celestia exhaled slowly, her tone and expression drooping.

"And much of the burden of saving them falls to me."

The red Gryphon turned, and raised an eyebrow once more.

"Did you really come all the way up to a deserted city, and climb this dark and foreboding hill, to wax philosophical with me?  I mean, I'd be flattered, but..."

The Alicorn smiled slightly, and dipped her head.

"Well, yes and no.  By nature what we have to discuss is, in some way, philosophical...  But you're right.  I do have a more specific point."

A telling pause ensued, during which the two beings stared at each other, taking the measure of their respective emotional states.  Celestia broke the silence first.

"I want to discuss the future with you."

Fyrenn sat back on his haunches, and the Solar Monarch did the same.  The Gryphon chuckled grimly, and shook his head.

"Why me?  Especially after all the things I've done, of which you don't exactly approve?  The things I've said?  Some of which I do regret."

As the Alicorn spoke, Fyrenn carefully examined her visage.  Subtle, but worrying signs of her ordeal still remained.  Tiny dark patches under her eyes, and a subtle diminishing of the glow in her mane were the most visible offenders.

"Your kind have always been the guardians of mine, just as mine have always been the glue binding you to the rest of our world.  We may find some of your violence distasteful, and your words harsh, but the fact remains that we need you, and you need us.  I need you, and you need me."

Celestia leaned forward, to emphasize her point, as she continued.

"And whether you like it or not...  Whether you want it or not...  You have an important part to play in all this still.  You are an important point of connection between three species, and that is not something for you to take lightly.  You may even find, one day soon, that important and great responsibilities will be given you as a result of your close ties to the King's family."

Fyrenn nodded, and sighed, inclining his head and blinking slowly.

"You've said as much before.  Has something changed, that we need to have the same conversation again?"

Celestia's eyes told the Gryphon everything he needed to know in answer to his question, but she spoke nonetheless, her tone reinforcing the gravitas of her words.

"Something has indeed changed.  An act of sabotage against my Kingdom, and indeed my whole kind, that I fear is only a precursor to an event of...  Well...  Biblical proportions as you might say."

Fyrenn opened his beak to inquire, but Celestia held up a hoof, and kept speaking forcefully.

"I will give no more specifics for now.  None but I, my sister, and your King know the particulars.  And only you and your friend Sildinar even know to ask.  I am telling you this not so that you will seek after more information now, but so that you will be prepared for a day when we'll need your unique influence and perspective."

The Alicorn rose, and finished her statement as Fyrenn followed suit.

"I know that you are the subject of a very interesting prophecy.  I have no doubt that it has bearing, and I don't believe it has yet come to pass.  So I urge you to accept that you still have much to accomplish, and much to learn.  And I urge you to be ready to aid both worlds when called."

Fyrenn narrowed his eyes, and tilted his head slightly.

"How did you find out about the prophecy?"

Celestia offered him the tiniest hint of a wry smirk.

"I am a Princess.  I have more ways of finding out what I want to know, than you have ways of killing someone with your bare claws."

The red Gryphon sighed, and nodded.

"I am always ready to serve where I'm needed.  And I still see you as a friend, as I hope you see me.  You may not like the heavy fisted tactics I bring to bear, but I'm always willing to be there for you, and yours."

The Alicorn smiled, and dipped her head.

"You may think I disprove, and in some cases you are right...  But I do believe you can grow, and improve.  And I believe your motivations are pure.  And certainly, the results so far have been better than I had any right to expect, forthcoming negative repercussions notwithstanding.  If you want proof of that, my friend, and if you want to see a sight much cheerier than a graveyard, join me tomorrow morning at the Baltimore Bureau."

Celestia nodded demurely as she stepped away down the hillside, her final words leaving a palpable change in the air.

"Bring Alyra.  This is something that will do you both good."
> Chapter 67
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 10th, Gregorian Calendar

Fyrenn tensed momentarily, as the dark bliss of sleep fell away, to be replaced by an unfamiliar environment.  It only took him half a second to realize that he was safe and sound in the Baltimore hotel room he had engaged the night before.

He flicked one ear to the left, focusing on the familiar sounds of Neyla, Kephic, Skye, Stan, and Varan going about their morning routines in the rooms to either side, and across the hall.  Fyrenn realized the sounds had likely awakened him in the first place.

He did his best to relax, to avoid waking Alyra, but the fledgling had already begun to stir in response to his moment of reflexive tension.  He sighed, and lifted his right wing.

Alyra yawned, stretched, and glanced up at him with a heart-melting smile.  Fyrenn returned the expression, and laid his head down on the nearest pillow, facing his daughter.

"I'm sorry.  I had planned to let you sleep in."

The fledgling shrugged, and sighed.

"That's ok.  I couldn't really sleep very well either.  That's just how it always is, for people like us, in strange places."

Fyrenn nodded, yawned, and stretched. Alyra giggled, and swatted playfully at the leading edge of his right wing as he extended it to work the knots out of the muscles.

The red Gryphon chuckled, and folded the limb once again.

"It never stops being amazing, even surprising.  Incase you were wondering.  Sometimes I loose a whole half an hour in front of mirrors, just taking in the complexities of the way a wing folds."

Alyra rose, leapt to the floor, and began her own series of stretches as she spoke.

"It's comforting.  Whenever I need to escape a bad memory, I just remember that I don't have to live with the limitations of gravity anymore.  I'm free."

She sat back on her haunches, then glanced over at the neatly ordered pile of gear on the floor beside the window.

"Can I borrow your sword again, please?"

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and folded his forelegs.  Alyra rose, and made her way slowly over to the scabbard as she elaborated.

"Sildinar taught me some basic exercises to strengthen my grip, my swing, and my shoulders."

The red Gryphon sighed, and nodded, doing his best to suppress a small grin.

"Alright.  But if you break anything in here, you'll have to answer for it, understand?  Human furniture isn't exactly durable, as compared to our standards.  Too much plastic."

Alyra giggled as she gingerly withdrew the blade, and gave it an experimental swing.

"I'll be careful, I promise."

Fyrenn nodded, and turned to make his way to the door.

"I'll be back in a few minutes.  If the room is still in one piece, then I'll give you some pointers for streamlining your technique."

The fledgling beamed, and threw herself forcefully into her studies, repeating the patterns of motion she had been taught over and over.  Fyrenn paused at the door to watch for a moment.  As a sense of pride swelled in his chest, he made a mental note to see about having a properly sized sword made for Alyra as soon as they had settled in.

According to everything he had ever been told, fledglings generally received their first bladed weapon, and bow, at approximately Alyra's age.

Fyrenn closed the door silently, then made his way across to Neyla's room, and rapped once sharply on the entryway frame.  A moment later, the Gryphoness appeared at the door, and ushered him in with a smile.

"Good morning.  I see you slept in."

He snorted, and shook his head.

"Not as much as I wanted to.  I've never been able to fully switch off my combat reflexes when staying in a strange place."

Neyla nodded, and returned to the task of preparing her own gear, speaking as she worked.

"None of us can.  It is a 'hard wired' instinct.  It has saved my life more than a few times, so I honestly would not dispense with it if I could."

Fyrenn sighed, and sat back on his haunches.

"Alyra seems to have taken to it without question.  I think, because of the life she's lived, that she's only ever known light, fitful sleep.  I'm hoping she'll relax more once we're home.  Get some real rejuvenating rest for the first time in her life."

Neyla stiffened, and held up a claw.

"Which reminds me..."

She shuffled through her rucksack for a moment, before withdrawing a large square envelope.  The texture of the thick, heavy duty paper, told Fyrenn that it was most likely made from Equestrian materials.

The Gryphoness handed the object to him, and he immediately realized that there was a stiff, thin object inside.  As he opened the lip of the envelope, and withdrew the circular, glossy black object, Neyla smiled and explained.

"I went to visit the local office of the Human Archive Project.  They offered to upload and store the contents of your music player, for future access, but they also said they could transcribe a limited number of songs to an Equestrian-made record.  I picked out a few that I think will help tide you over."

Fyrenn carefully flipped the large vinyl object over and over in his claws, examining it as he worked to catalogue, and control the swell of emotions growing in his heart.

"Thank you."

He leaned forward, and briefly encircled Neyla with his wings, offering her an emotion-laden smile that projected gratitude, and deep affectation.

As he slid the record back into its sleeve, Neyla returned to the task of preparing her gear, adopting a more businesslike tone as she worked.

"Breakfast plans?"

Fyrenn nodded, glancing over the Gryphoness' shoulder and out the window into the morning sky.  A light drizzle had begun to fall, occluding the sun and producing a comforting rhythm against the roof of the structure.

"I'd hoped to join you all briefly.  Say goodbye to Stan before he has to catch his flight, discuss final departure details for the rest of us..."

He paused, and inhaled, before continuing in a slower, exploratory tone.

"I was hoping you might be willing to do me a favor.  Not just me, really, more than anything it's a favor for Alyra..."

Neyla glanced up, and Fyrenn paused to evaluate her expression before continuing.

"I was hoping you might find something to do with her during the trial proceedings.  I don't want her last memory of Earth, for the foreseeable future, to be a court room where people are discussing the events that led to the death of her sister."

The Gryphoness nodded, and flashed Fyrenn a slight smile.

"Of course.  I've already made plans to that effect."

After a momentary stunned pause, Fyrenn chuckled, and shook his head slowly.

"You just keep finding new ways to surprise me..."

Neyla glanced over her shoulder with an unusually playful smirk.

"Isn't that half the fun?"





"C'mon, guys, it ain't as if this is g'bye forever.  I'll see you all in three weeks, tops...  And who knows?  Maybe I'll enjoy living without the constant smell of warm feathers for a bit."

A brief silence fell over the group.  The sounds of Baltimore seeped in through the front glass panes of the Bureau's lobby, bathing the scene in the comforting aural rhythms of a living, breathing metropolis.

Skye raised an eyebrow, and pointed one hoof at Stan's sides, speaking in a clear parody of Varan's customary monotone.

"You're a Pegasus.  You are literally made of feathers."

Carradan winced, and put on his best pained expression, and tone.

"Foiled again, gosh-*darn* it!"

The Unicorn raised her right hoof, and Stan brought his up to meet it with a solid 'thunk!'  Skye winked, and smiled slightly.

"Try and watch that big muzzle of yours;  We won't be around to pull you out of any holes you dig your way into."

Varan stepped forward next, and clapped Stan reassuringly on the shoulder.

"Avoid rash words, and rash actions.  Stay safe."

Carradan rolled his eyes, and snorted, mumbling under his breath good-naturedly.

"Physician heal thyself..."

Fyrenn glanced up through the compound curve of the lobby's glass roof, estimating the sun's position in spite of the clouds, and drizzle.

"Well..."

The red Gryphon glanced briefly at his daughter, and then at Neyla as he spoke.

"We'd best say our goodbyes next.  We're expected on the third floor in two minutes.  It isn't especially nice to keep royalty waiting."

As Alyra leapt on Stan, smothering him in a bear hug, Fyrenn turned to Hutch, and offered his claw.  To his surprise, the General reached forward, and offered the Gryphon a brief embrace instead, which Fyrenn returned gingerly to avoid causing any undue pain, as he spoke.

"Promise me you'll look us up, whenever you do finally go for Conversion."

Hutch withdrew, and nodded, smiling sadly.

"First thing after we hit the dirt.  You betcha."

Fyrenn moved to speak to Aston as Neyla quietly said her farewells to Stan, and Alyra smothered Hutch in another of her no-holds-barred hugs.

"I won't hold your views against you, if you won't hold my actions against me."

Aston paused, considering the red Gryphon's words for a moment, before nodding calmly.  She extended a hand, and Fyrenn shook it firmly as she responded.

"Agreed.  If I'm honest with myself, I can't say exactly how I'd react if I had a kid, and she was in mortal danger.  But I bet it wouldn't be pretty.  You take care of her...  She's something special."

Fyrenn smiled, and nodded as he stepped away.

"I know."

The red Gryphon traded a brief smile with Sildinar, which swiftly morphed into a half-embrace, half claw-shake.

"I assume I'll see you again soon?"

The roan Gryphon smiled, and nodded.

"Of course.  My first thought on returning to the capital will be you and your daughter."

Next, the red Gryphon moved to stand beside Stan as Alyra and Neyla finished saying their goodbyes to Hutch, and Aston.

"Three weeks.  I'm holding you to that, understand?"

Carradan threw off a mock salute, and tried his best to plaster a stiff military expression to his muzzle, with comedic effect.

"Aye aye captain jetpants sir!"

Fyrenn glowered good-naturedly, and took a half-hearted swipe at Stan's head, which the Pegasus easily dodged.

"It was *one* trap.  And it was a *good* one too, considering.  Even the LSO said so."

Stan held out a hoof, but Fyrenn bypassed it initially, instead folding the Pegasus into a brief hug with one wing.  After a short pause, the Gryphon smiled, and bumped the proffered hoof with one fisted claw.

"Forget their advice.  Be rash.  Use angry words.  Make some noise.  You're pretty good at that, after all.  Just...  Do your best not to antagonize anyone with more stars on their collar than Hutch."

Carradan nodded and smirked, pausing to nurse his ribs, and check his tender leg, before responding.

"I'll try to be careful, if you promise to try and be a little more open minded."

The Pegasus gestured with one hoof towards Neyla as he finished his thought.

"You got a heck of a catch there.  And it'd be a shame if your little girl never officially had a mom."

Fyrenn raised an eyebrow, and flattened his ears.

"Oh come on Stan.  That's a dirty, dirty blow right there."

Carradan smirked, winked, and nudged the red Gryphon's chest with one hoof.

"Yeah?  Guess who taught me that *all* is fair in love and war?"

Fyrenn smiled, and rolled his eyes as he stepped away.  Alyra and Neyla joined him as he began making his way to the bank of elevators at the far end of the chamber.  As the three stood and waited for the next lift car, Fyrenn turned and observed the remainder of the group.

A brief chuckle from Neyla pulled his gaze to the side.  He tilted his head in an unspoken declaration of curiosity, and the Gryphoness nodded back towards the group as she spoke.

"I was just thinking that a more diverse, ragged, misfit family has never graced the pages of history...  And certainly none so loving, or close-knit."

Fyrenn nodded, and sighed as the trio stepped into the elevator, and the doors slid closed.

"Sometimes it is rough going.  But sometimes it really does feel like we could take on the world..."

Alyra raised an eyebrow, and giggled.

"Haven't we done that already?"

The two older Gryphons found themselves at a loss for words, trading surprised glances as they reflected on the statement.  A few moments later, the lift opened depositing the three at their destination.

Fyrenn blinked, and re-seated his wings as the trio made their way down the corridor to the appointed conference room.

"I'm not really sure what to expect here..."

Neyla allowed a glimmer of a knowing smile to flit through her eyes, speaking calmly as Alyra glanced back and forth between the two larger Gryphons.

"I have some idea."

The three rounded the corner, and Fyrenn rapped on the door once sharply.  The panels slid back a moment later, and Celestia's smiling visage beckoned the three inside.  The sight that awaited them brought Fyrenn to a dead stop.

The red Gryphon was so stunned that he fell back on his haunches, unable to move, or speak as he took in the room's other occupants.

A pair of Zebra sat quietly in one corner.  To their left a pair of Gryphons who couldn't have been much older than Fyrenn and Neyla.  In the opposite corner a small group of Lupines were conversing quietly amongst themselves.

It was, however, the sight in the center of the room held Fyrenn's attention.  A young Zebra foal, a Gryphon fledgling perhaps a year younger than Alyra, and a Lupine pup as black as a lump of coal, were playing together with a small board game.

The three young creatures were instantly recognizable to Fyrenn.  In spite of their new forms, he knew their faces from memory.  All three were rescued telekinetics, from the plane Fyrenn had helped to bring down.

He watched, in a stupefied daze, as Alyra dashed forward and tried to enfold all three of the young beings in a hug.  The group laughed, and cried, and then laughed once more in the space of less than a minute, as they reveled in the ability to converse freely.

The red Gryphon continued to watch in silence as Neyla stepped forward to greet the three families, introducing herself quietly and helping to generate cohesive conversation.

Fyrenn reached up to brush away a few stray tears from his eyes, starting momentarily as Celestia sat down beside him, a warm smile covering her muzzle.  He stammered, almost at a loss for words.

"You...  Arranged this?"

The Alicorn nodded, and gestured with one wing as she spoke.

"These three volunteered to be the trial batch for the new adoption program.  It was hard to find interested Equestrian families here, close by, on such short notice, but we managed.  This afternoon we will introduce them to the world.  Soon enough, there will be a place for the rest of the rescued.  And then for all this world's unwanted orphans."

Celestia turned to Fyrenn, and fixed him with an intense gaze as she continued.

"This is because of you, Fyrenn.  You made this possible.  Not only through your tactical actions...  But through your willingness to be a part of the trial proceedings."

Fyrenn nodded slowly, again doing his best to hold down his emotions.  As he attempted to speak, his voice cracked slightly.

"This...  This is..."

The Alicorn smiled slightly, and fixed her gaze on the four children.

"This is the future.  They are our future.  They represent a coming day when boundaries of species and origin will no longer stand in the way of friendship and cooperation, or even family ties. The best of the Human spirit, coupled with the best of our cultures, and values.  They are a natural result of your open attitude towards species diversity...  You, and the others in your small band of unlikely family members."

Celestia again gestured with one wing, pausing to let her words sink in before she finished divulging her thoughts.

"This is why I adjure you to consider the influence your position affords you, and how you might use it actively for good.  You've done good this month...  And bad.  Even I can not yet see which will outweigh the other in the end.  It is a shame you weren't more reserved.  And this is why you must learn to move past the stresses and pains you've experienced on this world.  As you said...  Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it."

The Alicorn rose, and left Fyrenn to his thoughts, moving to the center of the room to mingle with the three families, and Neyla.

For his part, Fyrenn watched, considered the monarch's words, and reveled silently in the living and visible proof that a great good had at last come forth from a bad situation.





A sharp knock sounded, followed by a single word.

"Isaac?"

Fyrenn stiffened.  The use of his Human name did not bother him, but the familiarity of the voice itself gave him pause.  He finished cinching down his scabbard, and moved to the door, putting on his best intimidating glower as the plastic panels slid back.

Korvan's face greeted him, producing an upwelling of unpleasant emotions, and dangerously violent thoughts.  Fyrenn snapped, hoping the tenor of his words would clue the man in that he wasn't welcome.

"What do you want?"

Korvan gestured towards the inner portions of the room, and raised an eyebrow.

"Can I come in?"

Fyrenn flattened his ears, and shook his head once curtly.

"No."

He turned back to the remainder of his gear, carefully packing the rucksack so that Neyla's gift would be protected over the course of the forthcoming journey.  Korvan shuffled by the door, raising the volume of his voice slightly as if to ensure Fyrenn could hear him.

"I wanted to talk to you about the child.  Is she present?"

Korvan winced as he suddenly found himself once again confronted by the red Gryphon.  Fyrenn's beak pressed unpleasantly close to the man's face, and his hot breath delivered a series of signal's to the former Councilor's Human brain that invoked a primal urge to run, and scream.

"No.  What do you want with my daughter?"

Korvan stepped back to give himself some space, removing his trademark beige fedora before carefully phrasing a response.

"Isaac...  Technically, in the eyes of Earthgov law, she isn't your daughter, strictly speaking."

Fyrenn held Korvan's gaze for several seconds of total silence, pouring every ounce of his malice into his eyes, and directing it at the ex-Councilor like a laser beam.  When the red Gryphon did finally speak, his voice was almost atonal in its barely controlled rage.

"Be very careful with your next words.  I shouldn't have to remind you what happened to the last person who pursued this line of thought."

Korvan held up both hands, and inhaled a long, ragged breath before forging ahead.

"I understand this is emotional for you.  But I'm asking you to consider my offer, if only for a moment.  I want you to give the girl over to me, so she can pass through the system properly.  If you would be willing to do this, it might---"

Fyrenn cut the man off with a wave of his claw, his voice remaining deceptively calm.

"It might help you regain some credibility?  Score a political victory for your office, and your party?  Let you take credit for soothing some aggravated nerves?  Matthas...  Go away.  And don't ever let me see your face again."

Korvan opened his mouth to object, but Fyrenn laid one talon across the man's lips gently, allowing the point of the tip to pierce his nose ever so slightly.

"Matthas?  Close your mouth.  Or I will make good on my promise, regarding that hat of yours.  Do you remember what I said I'd do with it if you upset me again...?  Yes?  Good."

Fyrenn's eyes narrowed, and his tone dropped several octaves.  

"Now fuck off."

Fyrenn turned and had almost reached his rucksack when Korvan's voice issued forth once more.

"Fyrenn...  I won't take no for an answer here.  Can we discuss this like gentlemen?  Come to an arrangement?"

The red Gryphon tensed, and coiled his leg muscles to pounce as he turned to face the man once more.  His expression of towering rage, bolstered by a reflexive flaring of his wings, set Korvan to trembling in spite of himself.

"No.  No I don't think so."





Kephic gestured to the cacophony of sirens and emergency vehicle flashers outside as Fyrenn exited the lift.

"Do you know anything about this?"

Fyrenn inclined his head as he approached the group.  Varan remained impassive, but Skye's eyes widened slightly in concern, vague amusement, and curiosity.

Fyrenn prepared to elaborate as he reached the group.  As he opened his beak to speak, another lift opened, disgorging a stretcher, and the sound of pained screams.  Fyrenn winced slightly as the cadre of medical officers passed, pulling the cot and its suited occupant along.

Skye's face wrinkled, and she held up a hoof.

"Is that...  Korvan?!"

Fyrenn nodded, and sighed.

"Yes.  Yes it is.  He ambushed me while I was finishing up my packing."

Kephic snorted, and shook his head slowly as the screaming man, lying face down on the stretcher, was escorted out the lobby doors and towards a waiting ambulance.

"What did he say to you? What did you *do* to him?"

Fyrenn winced once more, and did his best to keep a grin from spreading across his beak.

"He wanted me, if you can believe this, to give Alyra up to the adoption system.  To 'smooth over the situation,' or rather, to bolster his political standing.  I warned him that if he didn't leave, I would fulfill my last promise to him."

Skye's muzzle wrinkled, and her eyes widened further.

"You mean...  When you promised him you'd take his hat and shove it up his..."

The red Gryphon nodded, shrugging nonchalantly.

"He'll probably need major surgery."

The Unicorn's jaw fell open.  A moment of absolute silence passed, before an unusual sound echoed through the lobby.  It took Fyrenn a full five seconds to identify it as Varan's quiet cackling.

Kephic and Skye, unable to help themselves, burst into peals of laughter.  Fyrenn chuckled, and shrugged once more, muttering to himself as his brother, and the Unicorn desperately tried to bring their mirth under control.

"Well, I'm already on trial for treason, so how much more trouble could I possibly be in?"





"You're sure?  Alright then.  See you in thirty."

Neyla tapped her earpiece to close the connection, then gingerly extracted the offending piece of plastic, secreting it in the feathers of her neck as she broke into a lope to catch up with Fyrenn and Alyra.

The former raised an eyebrow and tilted his head, one ear flicking up in a reflexive gesture of curiosity.

"What was that about?"

Alyra grinned sheepishly, interjecting before Neyla could draw breath for an answer.

"I asked her if we could do something special while you're in court.  There's something I want... That I have to do before we leave."

Fyrenn came to a halt, creating a minor traffic jam in the quad as a group of officers had to side-step to avoid the three Gryphons.  A moment of silence passed, punctuated only by the click of polished boots against the well worn paving stones of the Annapolis courtyard as officers came and went in streams around the island of feathers and fur in the center of the path.

"Alyra...  You don't owe anyone anything.  If anything, this planet owes *you.*  Don't force yourself into any pain that you don't have to."

The fledgling blinked, and mimicked the tilt of her father's head, gazing up with her mournful golden eyes.  Her tone was firm, self-assured.  Almost disturbingly adult.

"I want to do this.  Uncle Stan has agreed to help.  He and m---  and Neyla, will be right there with me.  Everyone on earth is hearing from the others for the first time, right now...  But I talked to them.  I know that the Princess asked them to avoid talking about what...  What happened to us.  To stick to talking about the adoption program.  About their new families."

Alyra reached up and planted a quick kiss on her father's cheek, before stepping back to a protected position under Neyla's left wing.

"Someone has to tell the story.  Someone who was there.  I *do* owe someone.  One last thing.  She isn't here to see it...  But I think she will know."

Fyrenn nodded, struggling in vain to keep the tears out of his eyes.

"You are a credit to her, my little light of joy.  I'll see you this afternoon."

With a dip of his head, Fyrenn turned and allowed his tears to flow freely as he walked towards the JAG building.





"This Tribunal is now in session, as per Article eight-eight-five of the Earthgov Uniform Code of Military Justice.  Brigadier General Stimson presiding, with Brigadier General Sharpe, Brigadier General Nyass, Commodore Elliston, and Commodore Leytan."

Stimson slammed the steel gavel down, and the officers took their seats.  Before the courtroom had even settled, the prosecutor was on his feet, his voice echoing eerily in the largely empty chamber.

"The prosecution would like to ask the Court to admonish the defense to adhere to the uniform code of military justice, and to refrain from breaching protocol, on penalty of being held in contempt of court."

Stimson nodded, and directed his gaze, and words, at Fyrenn.

"Motion granted.  The defense will abide by the rules of the court, or be held in contempt.  This is your final warning."

Fyrenn held up a claw, and raised an eyebrow.

"A moment, if I may?"

Sharpe sat forward, and did her best to summon a hint of a glare.

"Prosecution was, as I recall, in the midst of opening arguments.  What justification could you possibly present for another interruption?"

Fyrenn rose, and made his way forward to stand before the tribunal, folding his forelegs and fixing them each in turn with an angry glower as he spoke.  His words were delivered slowly, and calmly, but with obvious and dangerous force.

"I said before that I felt this proceeding pointless.  I am, in fact, only here because my presence was necessary as part of a favor to a friend.  This I also previously stated.  Ideally this is the point where you drop this ridiculous farce, and let me leave in peace...  That's all I want at this point, and that's what's in your best interests as well."

The red Gryphon paused, and a hint of a sad smile pulled at the corner of his beak.  He reached back to the defense bench, and picked up a small DaTab. 

The red Gryphon slapped the object quietly against the open palm of one claw, and spoke out in a low, sing-song parody of a military officer's formal cadence.

"On the charges and specifications, including murder, dereliction of duty, sedition, treason, terrorism, and disobeying a direct order, this Tribunal finds you guilty."

He glanced up at Stimson, and raised an eyebrow, as he dropped the slightly comical tone.

"Isn't that what you want here?  Regardless of how pointless such an outcome would be?  There's no room for you to change course?  Buck the trend?  Defy your orders and make this a real, fair proceeding?"

The red Gryphon's eyes fell, and he snorted softly before continuing in a tone nearer to a melancholy whisper than anything else.

"Well...  Then I suppose neither of us are going to get what we wanted out of this today."

Fyrenn stepped forward, and his eyes narrowed as the volume of his words rose once more.  The strong tinge of sadness remained.

"I did what I felt was right, and necessary, to protect my daughter, and to cleanse the world of a group of degenerates who were crushing the lives of children to serve their vile ends.  If you wish to prosecute me for that?  For exterminating obviously guilty parties?  For saving you a great deal of trouble?  For serving Earth yet again at my own peril...?"  

The red Gryphon paused momentarily.  Most of the rooms occupants would have guessed that the moment represented an attempt at dramatic effect.  Only Kephic and Varan could tell that their brother was using the brief pause to fight back tears.

When Fyrenn finished his statement, the words were delivered with a quiet calm.

"If we really are at an impasse here?  Then I can no longer serve this government, nor this military, in good faith."

Fyrenn passed the DaTab to Sharpe, speaking in a low, melancholy tone.

"Resignation papers for Lieutenant Commander Isaac Wrenn, filed on my behalf by Mister Carradan with the Bureau Military substation desk in New York.  Accepted by the officer on duty.  Dated First of April, Twenty One Seventeen.  Processed automatically by central AI cluster that same day."

A chilled hush filled the room.  After a long, and awkward pause, Fyrenn sighed, and blinked back a small stream of tears as he spoke once more.

"Seeing as how I am no longer part of this command...  This proceeding has no legal military basis on which to continue.  And it never did."

The red Gryphon strode back to the center of the room, and turned to face the double doors at the exit.  He paused, then glanced back over his shoulder at the silent, stunned tribunal.

"I formally renounce my Earthgov citizenship.  I claim full immunity under my sole status as a citizen of the Gryphon Kingdoms, and a Knight of the brotherhood therein." 

Without further prelude, without even turning for a final look, Fyrenn walked to the exit doors, flanked by Kephic and Varan, and flung them open, speaking just loudly enough, so that all might hear.

"Court adjourned."





Fyrenn paused midway through the act of placing his vinyl record into its protective case.  The familiar hoofbeats were instantly identifiable, particularly given the silence of the hotel room.

"In fairness, I did warn you what was going to come of the trial."

Fyrenn turned as he spoke, locking his eyes with Celestia's.  Her expression once again conveyed utmost melancholy, and disappointment.  The emotions were mirrored starkly in her tone.

"And I recognize that there was little you could have done in the present to soften the blows of your past actions...  But I still hold out hope that you may learn something from the effects."

The Alicorn stepped gracefully into the room, and gestured with her head towards the wallscreen controls.  Fyrenn paused, searching the monarch's visage for clues as to her intentions, before obligingly tapping the panel.

The screen instantly filled with a current-events broadcast, accompanied by newscaster voice over.  The images depicted a throng of angry protesters outside the Singapore Earthgov complex.

"...Reports that a tense standoff between protesters and Earthgov Military Police erupted this morning in Singapore.  Though no serious violence has been reported, vandalism and disruption to city-services have been widespread, and many have expressed fear that the situation will escalate, given the hefty presence of off-duty military personnel within the protest groups."

The camera panned across the throng, which looked to Fyrenn's eyes to be almost two thousand strong.  All the while, the newscaster continued.

"Reports on-site indicate that the sentiments of the protesters are mainly underpinned by fear, and anger over the events of the Vancouver incident, and what is perceived by many to be a weak, corrupt government response.  Many in the crowd chanted, or lofted banners, demanding that the Earthgov seek further Equestrian military and political aid.  Others are questioning the loyalty and motives of the Council as a whole, fresh from the news that the HLF's attack was the result of widespread infiltration..."

Fyrenn's breath caught in his throat as familiar image filled the screen.  A red Gryphic shape, reminiscent of his own form, spray-painted onto a wall at the entrance to the Earthgov annex.

"...But the main precipitator of this morning's unrest was the leaked confirmation that the red Gryphon responsible for outing further corruption and treason within the government, was taken to trial under his military standing.  The news sparked anger in many, especially military personnel, who are following a rising tide of anti-Earthgov sentiment in the wake of recent corruption scandals.  The Gryphon in question, formerly known as Lieutenant Commander Isaac Wrenn, has quickly become a symbol for the protesters' borderline anti-Human sentiments."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly, doing his best to comprehend what he was seeing, as the newscaster went on.

"Not everyone agrees with the swelling crowds, however, and several large counter-rallies have been planned in London, Berlin, and Tokyo backed by those who see the red Gryphon's actions as a precedent for subsuming Human interests, and political sway."

Fyrenn caught a final sentence from the reporter as Celestia reached across the dresser, and flicked the 'mute' control with one hoof.

"Many of the organizers we spoke to from these groups had previous affiliations with pro-Humanist, or anti-Equestrian movements, and---"

A brief silence ensued, before Celestia spoke once more.

"Fear, Fyrenn, is an exceedingly potent thing.  It does make a formidable weapon on the battlefield, true...  But it is volatile. 
Unpredictable by its very nature, especially in the political sphere.  I would have thought you might have learned that lesson in your studies of Earth's past conflicts.  The fear you inspired was effective at achieving your goals, true..."

The Alicorn paused, and fixed the red Gryphon with a gaze that betrayed deep concern, matched by a brief tremor in her next words.

"But that fear has generated side-effects that you couldn't have accounted for.  And that you have no capacity to undo.  You have strongly polarized an issue that should have remained open for civil debate, and you've unwittingly made yourself into something possibly even more potent than fear..."

Celestia allowed another moment of silence to pass, before finishing her thought.

"You've become a *symbol* to them.  And symbols can be very dangerous.  Both sides will use you to represent not only that which they rightly deem is wrong with their leaders, and the situation...  But also to represent butchered, twisted, fear-driven versions of their rhetoric, until all chance at a calm, moderate resolution are dashed."

Fyrenn shook his head slowly once again, and exhaled, before responding in a low, despondent tone.

"My only intent was to save innocent lives, and protect my family.  I remain convinced.  I did the right thing.  I've read plenty of history...  Only more recently do I see it through clearer eyes.  Sometimes upheaval, even collapse, is a necessary step on the road to a better future."

Celestia winced, and sighed, disappointment once again leaking into her tone.

" 'The road to hell is paved with good intentions.'  Is that not one of Humanity's wisest sayings?  You are not entirely wrong... The warrior spirit has great value, and sometimes a forest must burn to clear the brush for new growth.  But nothing has value without faith, hope, and love.  And the greatest of these is *love.*"

Fyrenn snorted quietly, and offered the solar monarch a sad smile.

"I see you delved into the new testament after all."

The Alicorn nodded, and took a step closer to Fyrenn, fixing her gaze on him as she spoke in a low, pleading tone.

"And you should delve into it once again.  There are many lessons it can offer, which you have regrettably failed to learn, as of yet.  A dash of empathy, or an ounce of subtlety in your actions...  Even a touch of mild restraint...  And you could have achieved your goals just as effectively, but without forcing others to suffer the burden of what you will leave behind."

Fyrenn stiffened, and his eyes narrowed.  He gestured firmly to the images of scuffles, and fires on the screen with one index talon as he forced out his response, doing his best to maintain control over the rising tide of his emotions.

"Their burden is of their own making.  The mistakes of a few never justify the sins of the many.  Never.  If you wanted to blame everyone who had some causative relationship to every violent protest in Earth's history, you would have to indict a great many innocent people.  Our media too often acts as a puppet for our government, casing legitimate protestors as 'rioters.'  'Hoodlums.'  'Terrorists.'  But no progress was *ever* made in Human history, against corrupt governments, without the spilling of blood, and the burning of flags.  I used to be too jumped up on the propaganda to see it...  But every leap forward in Human rights in all our history needed some kind of battle to be fought, with real actual violence, not just words."

Celestia shook her head and held up a conciliatory hoof, her tone reflecting a similarly placating demeanor.

"You misunderstand.  I don't mean to suggest that you are at fault for the actions of the whole, nor that they are without justifications.  As you said, their burdens are of their own making, and they have the right to fight back against the sins the privileged force on them.  I mean to suggest that, though you did not realize it, and that though you have trouble accepting it...  That you have the power to sway people to the courses of hope, and love.  And that you therefore have an obligation to use your talent for leadership, and position of influence, to do so."

The red Gryphon's expression softened slightly, and he nodded, exhaling softly before carefully stringing together his thoughts as words.

"In all honesty?  From one friend to another?  I truly don't know where to go from here."

Fyrenn inhaled, and paused momentarily, before continuing in a quiet, reserved tone.

"I've never been one to shirk responsibility.  I believe...  Like all members of my kind...  And like my mother, and father, and grandmother...  That if you have the power to intervene in a positive way?  You have the unequivocal responsibility, and duty, to do so."

The Gryphon glanced up, locking his eyes briefly with the Alicorn's as he finished his thought.  Celestia shivered slightly at the rare display of regret, and confusion.

"But I don't know *how* to do that in this case.  When I said I've never had ambitions to power...  I meant it.  I'm adrift enough as it is, trying to learn to be a father.  Trying to bring myself to a place where I can be a good mate.  How am I supposed to become this paragon for three species?  I lack not only ambition, but also any sort of capacity.  I simply *can't* be political."

Fyrenn hung his head, and sighed once more.  A deep, saddening sound.  Celestia took a gentle, silent step forward, and placed one hoof under the Gryphon's chin, raising it up once more as she spoke.

"You *do* have the capacity.  It was *my* mistake to presume that political savvy, the way I envision it, was somehow necessary to that capacity.  Political conniving may be impossible for you, but empathy and restraint...  Patience and love?  Those you possess.  I have seen the proof.  What you yet lack is the skill to turn those to good use rhetorically in wider arenas, under political pressure.  But few, if any of us, are naturally born with that ability."

A small, half-chuckle escaped Fyrenn's beak, tinged with the softest hint of well-hidden tears.  He cocked his head slightly as he did his best to put together a response that properly covered his range of emotions.

"Then how about this...  I'll make you a promise, if you will make me one in return.  I promise I'll stand ready.  To learn, and to serve the innocents of either world...  Of any race...  Should I ever be needed again."

Celestia smiled slightly, and mimicked the tilt of Fyrenn's head.

"And in return?"

Fyrenn smiled wanly, and blinked.

"And in return, you promise to understand that I'm not going to conform to the exact image of a peaceful, political, tri-species savior that you had in your head."

The Alicorn nodded slowly as the red Gryphon continued in a halting fashion.

"I...  I know that in some ways, you're right.  I carry with me the Human spirit.  And I am glad of that.  I own it happily, it is an advantage, and a part of my heritage that I love and honor..."

Fyrenn tilted his head in the opposite direction, and his tone became firmer.  Surer and calmer.

"But by that same token?  I am not a Human anymore.  I carry a part of that with me...  But as to what I *am?*  I am a Gryphon.  Maybe I'm not like any Gryphon that's ever come before...  But that's the point of all this.  And whatever that makes me in the end?  It isn't something you can wrap up and classify in a neat little box.  It's...  Like my crazy little family."

He smiled once more, a stronger touch of warmth suffusing the expression, and spilling over into his words as he finished.

"Five Gryphons, two Ponies, a Changeling, and two Humans...  Maybe it's new, and a little scary. But it's amazing, and impossible, and beautiful...  And like you said...  It's our future."

The Alicorn shook her head momentarily, then snorted softly, smiling as she murmured under her breath.

"I suppose you're not the only one to fall prey to preconceptions, and instinctual bias.  I think perhaps in seeing how malleable and adaptable Humans could be...  I unintentionally began to believe I could use that spirit as a pathway to remaking others in my image.  My kind are peaceful, patient, and friendly first.  By nature.  And I suppose I have come to idolize that..."

Celestia chuckled again momentarily, then glanced up and sighed.

"...But I suppose if my faithful student has taught me anything, it should have been that we are all unique.  And in this diversity rests the strength of us all."

Fyrenn nodded, and inhaled deeply.

"So what now?  I can't very well inject myself back into this situation right now.  That would do more harm than good."

Celestia inclined her head, and let out a long breath before speaking.

"For now?  I think the course you've already settled on is best.  Remove yourself from the mix, and hope that your absence will help to mitigate the rising fires.  There may come a time for you to step forward and take action, or speak truths, that will further repair the damage...  But not today."

Fyrenn shouldered his bag, and his sword, nodding slowly as he cinched the straps in place.

"You have my word;  I'll be ready and willing.  I may have no place in the political or military structure of this planet...  But its people are still my own, in a very real and significant way.  I have no intention of standing idly by if I can make their future better somehow.  One day."

He stiffened reflexively, inhaling sharply in surprise as Celestia gently draped one wing around him momentarily, offering him a small swift embrace.

"Young one...  You are a better friend than you know, or care to admit.  Don't bottle that up behind some great and terrible wall, to be seen only be a few of your closest confidants.  Your challenge must be to let it temper your steel to perfection."

Fyrenn nodded, and swiftly returned the embrace with his left wing, turning his head as he made his way to the door.

"Well...  If you know anything about me, you know I can't refuse a worthwhile challenge."

He paused, and sighed deeply, before tossing a final sentence over one wing.

"And...  Keep an eye to the news this evening.  I promise you, it wasn't my idea.  It was Alyra's."





"My name was April.  My sister gave it to me.  She was killed by a man your Council appointed to enslave, torture, and command us."

Alyra rustled her wings nervously, the sound lost amongst the clicks of a myriad of camera shutters.  The sea of press left her with an unexpected pit of stress in her throat.  She cast a quick glance back at Neyla, the Gryphon she thought of as her mother.

From the shadows back-stage, the blue and tan Gryphoness smiled, and nodded.  Alyra shifted her gaze back to the audience, then directly into the live feed cameras.

"You know the part of the story about my father.  How he saved me.  Now..."

Alyra turned her gaze right, and fixed it on Stan with a wan smile.  The reporter sat across from her, a strange sight to many eyes;  An unfamiliar salmon Equine seated with comfortable reporter's bearing, in a familiar interviewer position and posture.

"Now you're going to know the rest of the story.  You're going to know the whole truth."

Stan nodded slowly, and offered his niece a sad smile.

"Alright kid.  We take this at your pace, no matter what my supervisor says in my earpiece.  Where do *you* want to begin?"

Alyra inhaled deeply, paused, exhaled slowly, and then began in a firm, but melancholy tone.

"I...  Have been running.  Every day.  Since I can remember..."





"Exhale."

Skye blinked and yawned, doing her best to rub sleep from her eyes as she tried to process Varan's single-word imperative.

"Sorry wha--?"

The golden Gryphon smirked ever so slightly as he passed through the Barrier at full speed, with no further warning.  The Unicorn's eyes widened and she stiffened sharply, hoofing Varan sharply in the neck by accident.

A moment later, as the golden Gryphon flared his wings, and transitioned to a hover, Skye let out an enormous hiccup.

"Not-- *HIC!*  Not FAIR!  *HIC!*"

Varan raised an eyebrow, and allowed a hint of a smile to tug at the edge of his beak once more.

"You were snoring.  You promised you would not snore."

Fyrenn grinned in spite of himself, shaking his head, and flaring his own wings to bring him up short.  Kephic and Neyla had already crossed over from the foggy cloying air of Earth to the clear, crisp night of Equestria.  The pair were laughing so hard at Skye's predicament, Fyrenn wondered if they were going to simply fall out of the sky.

Alyra chuckled, and nuzzled up against her father's side, flaring one wing sharply to keep her balance.  She glanced up into Fyrenn's eyes, momentarily entranced by the reflection of a trillion stars in the twin golden pools.

The fledgling sighed, and cast her head down slightly.

"Sonya and I always thought we'd share this moment..."

Fyrenn reached down with one claw, and brought his daughter's head up, locking eyes with her for a moment once more.  He pulled her close, allowing her to fold her wings, and surrender entirely to the protective embrace of his forelegs, as he buried her head in the warm feathers of his chest.

"She's watching.  And if she were here?  She might borrow the words of an old song. 'Though love is confusing, and life is hard...  You fight to survive, because you've made it this far...' "

The red Gryphon exhaled softly, and beat down twice firmly with his wings, propelling himself and his precious cargo across the bubble, and into another world.  He inhaled deeply, and released Alyra gingerly, allowing her to spread her wings once more.

The fledgling took flight once again, smiling as her father softly murmured the rest of the verse.

" 'It's all too astounding to comprehend...  But it's just the beginning.  This isn't the end.' "
> Epilogue
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
April 15th, Gregorian Calendar

"Severe riots continued to rock Vancouver, Baltimore, Singapore, London, and Sydney today as the gulf between pro-Humanist, and pro-Equestrian parties in the Council widened further, stalling useful political compromise.  Protesters marching under the now-familiar emblem of a red Gryphon torched the Sydney offices of Earthgov, and issued savage beatings to several government officials in the streets, when it was discovered that their names were on a list of officials whom Echelon Twelve had approached about starting a second cybernetics program.  Meanwhile counter-rioters in London and Baltimore released tear gas in the Conversion Bureaus of both cities, forcing a temporary evacuation of the facilities, and there have been many reports of looting and vandalism in areas of both cities where the Equestrian population is greatest in density.  From Baltimore, for GNN, I'm Scott Cantrell."

Hutch narrowed his eyes in concern, and reached for the volume control, tapping it several times as the images on the holoscreen cycled away from the sight of burning cars and smoking buildings, back to the gleaming façade of the GNN newsroom.

"Thanks Scott.  This evening, in the GNN newsroom, we have analysts from both sides of the debate, here to present the two sides of this uniquely polarizing issue, and to give us a peek as to how we can expect this situation to unfold.  I want to start with---"

Aston snorted, and reached across the desk to press the mute control.  Hutch raised an eyebrow, and sat back in his chair.

"You don't approve?"

Aston shook her head as she spoke, turning to glare out the window at the Charlotte skyline's brilliant evening lights.

"Of the pundits and special interest groups?  Never.  Not even when I agree with them.  And I hate that they get coverage.  It only spurs the idiotic masses on to greater feats of stupidity.  More shouting matches, less work being *actually* accomplished.  None of these pundits care about the issues.  Just the ratings."

Hutch leaned forward again, and scanned his terminal as a new message appeared at the top of the queue, accompanied by a soft tone.  After a moment, he glanced around the screen, and offered Aston a slight smile.

"Well this ought to cheer you up.  We've received marching orders directly from JRSF command.  We're going to be helo'd first-class to the Yorktown, for a high level series of talks and action panels.  Representatives from every race in the Accords have been summoned.  By the Gryphons."

Aston whistled, and twisted the screen around to read for herself.  Her eyes widened as she took in the content of the message, and she inclined her head.

"Well...  I guess they really are going to pull the trigger, and dissolve the military as we knew it."

Hutch sighed, and laced his fingers together, placing his hands behind his head.

"It sure does look that way.  Not that they have a choice at this point.  But you can bet it won't end quietly.  The Council is digging in their heels something fierce."

Further discussion of the topic was sidelined as a loud knock sounded at the office door.  Hutch rose, and stepped across the interim space, pressing the control panel to unlock the glass panels.

A corpsman stood at attention, lugging an enormous steel crate on a dolly behind him.  The package was far longer than it was tall, or wide.

"Sir!  Reporting as ordered with a priority delivery for General Hutchinson sir!"

Hutch raised an eyebrow, and nodded.

"At ease corpsman.  Who's it from?"

The man shook his head, and offered Hutch a DaTab, and a stylus.

"Doesn't say sir.  It's marked as a privileged diplomatic pouch.  Your eyes only.  Please sign and affix your right thumbprint."

Hutch lazily drafted his signature, then depressed his right thumb on the screen until it cheerfully beeped acceptance.  He handed the DaTab back to the officer, and saluted.

"Thank you.  Dismissed Corpsman."

As the man marched away, still holding himself in the ramrod straight attention pose, Hutch wheeled the dolly into the temporary office space, and shut the door behind him.

Aston snorted, and gestured with one thumb.

"You sure you want to open it?"

The General nodded, and smiled as he pulled the heavy object from the dolly, and set it lengthwise on his desk, gesturing to a small red stylized Gryphon emblem stamped on one corner of the container.  The crate filled the entire working surface, and spilled out several feet on either side to boot.

"I have an idea of what it might be, and who it might be from."

Hutch placed both thumbs on the crate's dual biometric locks.  After a pause, they hissed, clanked, and released.  The general flung open the lid, and a smile immediately spread over his visage.

Aston stood, leaned over his shoulder, and chuckled as she beheld the sight within.  Behind a thick plexiglass panel, cushioned by custom-cut closed cell foam, sat Fyrenn's Hellraiser rifle, complete with the bipod enabling Human use.  A small yellow sticky note was affixed to one corner of the package's inner surface, with a simple two-line message.

'In case of Emergency;
Break Glass, Raise Hell.  -F'

Hutch chuckled, and shook his head slowly.

"I always did want a good conversation piece to mount on my back wall..."





"Ma'am?  Here are those fitreps you asked for."

Martins nodded and waved absently, pausing to offer a polite smile to her assistant.

"Thank you Astris, just leave them somewhere in the ever expanding lovely explosive mess otherwise known as my desk."

The Unicorn nodded, and levitated the stack of DaTabs onto a pile of existing tablets and papers, grimacing as he noted the shabby condition of Martins' desk.  He paused on his way to the door, and turned to glance at the Councilor expectantly.

"Are we really going to go through with it so soon?"

Martins glanced up, and nodded, her eyes as somber as her tone.

"We haven't got a choice anymore.  After the mess in the Atlantic, projections say we lost anywhere between eight and ten months of time.  Crewed tests of the drive will proceed by the end of the month."

Astris nodded, and stepped through the door, pausing abruptly as another thought occurred to him.

"Are we still operating under need-to-know conditions ma'am?"

Martins looked up once more, steely resolve readily visible in her eyes, alongside deep concern.

"Given the fallout from recent events?  The riots?  The ongoing political maelstrom?  Yes Astris.  Yes we are."





"I know this has been a difficult month for us all.  Most of you who are embedded in government or military positions have been discovered already...  And those who haven't are being evacuated as we speak, even now."

Mrs. Juno pursed her lips, folded her arms, and turned to address the cabinet members assembled before her.  Retribution had once been their home under dire circumstances.  During normal operations procedures, the bunker under Cheyenne Mountain had provided a more fully fledged command center.

Both facilities were lost to the HLF.  As such, the quarters were cold, and cramped, barely large enough to fit the assembled members.  It helped reduce the sense of emptiness resulting from the sudden decrease in their numbers.

Mrs. Juno placed both hands in her pockets, for the sake of warmth, as she paced at the head of the austere steel conference table.

"To make a frank assessment of the damage;  Mr. Utah is dead.  Killed in action.  Mr. Stalin took his life not long ago.  Mr. Churchill, known to the world as Brigadier General Stimson, will soon be in grave danger, if not in custody."

The woman paused, and allowed the information to sink in.  A series of charged whispers encircled the room.  Mrs. Juno raised her voice slightly to regain everyone's attention.

"Mr. Argus remains loyal to us, but his position is precarious at best.  Especially considering that his colleague, Mrs. Truman has gone silent.  We believe she may have defected, and sought political asylum and immunity through her status as a Councilor."

A shocked hush fell over the room, punctuated only by the dull thrum of the fluorescent ceiling lamps.

Mrs. Juno delivered her final verbal blows with barely a hint of the ambition concealed behind her eyes.

"Mrs. Daladier was killed yesterday morning during a Gryphon mercenary raid on her Mayoral residence.  Mr. Eisenhower is in custody as of this afternoon.  Accounting for other recent casualties, that leaves only the personnel in this room, in terms of remaining Cabinet members, with the exception of Mr. Argus."

Mrs. Juno listed off each name as she shifted her gaze around the perimeter of the table to lock eyes with each cabinet member.

"Ms. Corsair, Mr. Mustang, Mrs. Stuka, Mr. Hurricane, Mr. Akagi, Ms. Aquila, Mr. Colossus, Mrs. Gold, Dr. Omaha, and lastly myself."

The woman paused, and placed both hands firmly on her hips as she stared out at the group.

"Protocols of succession place me at the head of the Cabinet, starting now.  As of this moment?  You work for me.  I'll be sitting down with my new associates in command section, Dr. Omaha and Mr. Akagi, to divide the rest of you up into new sections and positions."

Mrs. Juno folded her arms, and took a seat at the head of the table as she continued.

"Right now, we're here to draft a new set of contingency protocols and measures.  The Front is ailing.  We've made some serious errors, largely as a result of leadership too caught up in idealism and ridiculously overbloated plans with too many moving parts."

Mrs. Juno sat back, and leveled a finger at the assembled Cabinet members.

"From here on in?  We are the resistance.  And we will treat the situation as such.  There are lessons to be learned from those who went through situations like this before.  Hamas.  The French Resistance during the Second World War.  Al Qaeda.  The Taliban.  The Egyptian Brotherhood.  EXCET.  Daesh...  Even the PER."

The woman leaned forward, placing both hands firmly on the cold surface of the table.

"We will adapt.  We will embrace nimble, cellular, effective terror practices.  We will accept the practical limitations of our situation, and we will exploit every advantage to be had.  As of now, there are no ethics but those of survival.  No rules, but the basic law of Human supremacy.  Here, or in their world.  Humanus Pro Vita!"

The assembled members nodded vigorously, and lifted their fisted hands high.

"Humanus Pro Vita!"





Earth Calendar: 2117
Equestrian Calendar: 15 AC (After Contact)
Fifth Month, Twelfth  Day, Celestial Calendar

In The Darkness, the void of voids, the space between, the voice of the one-who-would-lead rang out.  Gilt like a belt of shimmering stars, yet as inky as the bottom of a singularity itself, each word reverberating and quaking the very foundation of the space, as if spoken within a cathedral.

"The way for our designs is open!  The six return to Equestrian lands, and you stand ready to destroy them.  The Avatars of Sun and Moon are spent.  Weakened.  Ripe for destruction!  Our adversaries claw at each other's throats, and bleed in the dirt, while we forge the foundation of their very undoing!"

The one-who-would-lead paused, and a current of electrifying suspense ran through the Dispossessed.  Her next words seemed to summon forth the very gates of hell itself, laced with a malice bred for eons upon eons.

"The Humans know nothing of the coming darkness.  They walk willingly as lambs to a slaughter.  Their factions know nothing of our manipulations.  And now the great implements upon which our hosts rely, are in our possession at last!"

An image materialized in the void.  A hardened strongbox, secured against a basaltic stone floor, its locks rent asunder as if by the very claws of the Devil.  Inside, six colored gems glittered, each set into a piece of golden ornamental jewelry.

"Behold!  The Elements of Harmony.  Now ours, weapons for the coming reign of night-eternal!"





The moon peeked over the horizon, a tiny crescent of liquid silver that set the wisps of cloud high above aglow.  The suspended ice crystals swooped up and away into the otherwise clear expanse, lofted on high altitude breezes that kept the temperature, and humidity, comfortably low.

Fyrenn alit on the small outcropping of rock, followed in short order by Alyra, Kephic, Neyla, and Varan.  The latter deposited Skye momentarily, allowing the Unicorn to stretch her legs, and revel for a moment in the cool, bright evening air.

Alyra bounded to the edge of the outcropping and stared out at the glimmering vista above, and beyond, utterly transfixed.

Tih’ré Seli’hn sparkled with the lights from thousands of hearth-fires, candles, and mage-lamps.  The golden hued, inviting shades of luminescence spilled out over the side of the mountain in the same shape as the city itself, filling the small mountain glen beneath with a welcoming aura that was visible to the naked eye.

Alyra finally managed to find words as Fyrenn made his way up the outcrop to stand beside her.  She glanced up at her father, and smiled with and expression of excitement and peace deeper than any he had yet seen on her beak.

"This is home?!  We get to live here?!"

Fyrenn nodded, and placed one wing over his daughter, smiling and exhaling as a deep sense of peace flooded his own heart.  Neyla, Skye, and his brothers came to stand beside him as he nodded slowly, speaking softly so as not to shatter the moment.

"Yes.  This is home."

He directed his smile down at the fledgling, and pulled her closer with his wing.

"Welcome home."






Pre-Readers (Past and Present) for This Story Alphabetically:
Airstream
DogfoodAndGlue
frieD195
rigomi123


Fyrenn and the rest will return in:



Coming Soon!

Special thanks to: 
Xzeron2000, 
and WestphalianMusketeer 
for helpful insight and thoughts.






Veritas released the threads of reality that bound her perceptions to the void of voids, relinquishing the constant energized thrum of the Dispossessed for the relative silence of her office.

The Unicorn paused to reacquaint herself with the bodily senses of her host form, before rising, and releasing a deep sigh.  The host had long ago given up on fighting a constant battle for control, but Veritas sometimes found that she still tried to reassert herself, feebly, after a prolonged projection session.

Veritas had been with the host so long, that its form had been fully imbued with her ability to shift phases at will.  The Unicorn's coat and mane had even changed in response to Veritas' presence, much like her previous hosts forms had shifted.  

But she still found that she had to leave some part of it behind whenever she took her mind to the void.

Veritas exhaled once more, and let herself out into the corridor, striding slowly but steadily towards her destination through the nondescript warren of brightly-lit passages.  She turned left at a heavily reinforced door, marked with a colored stripe, and placed one hoof into a receptacle to unlock the sealing mechanism.

The Unicorn stepped into the darkened chamber, and paused to admire the long rows of vertically oriented tanks.  She stood, and counted backwards mentally, synchronizing her cadence to the clock at the opposite end of the ominous chamber.

When her countdown reached its end, the lights began to spring to life, segment by segment, activating above each tube as the machinery above spun down, and the glass fronts popped open with the hiss of equalizing pressure.

One by one, the occupants of the devices began to step out, each taking up a position of respectful attention in front of their tube.  An external observer would have mistaken them for simple Ponies.  Pegasi, Earth Ponies, and Unicorns lined up in two long rows.

Such an external observer would have certainly noticed that the beings seemed to lack the traditional energy, and vitality of the Equid species.  Otherwise, no change was initially apparent.

Veritas walked past each, inspecting them silently in turn, until she had come to the end of the line.  She turned to face the two ranks once again, as she had a dozen times before, and her eyes sprang to life with an eerie red light.

A deep blue menacing aura formed around her, and as she stared out at her servants, identical signs began to manifest on each.  A dark aura of energy, and bright red eyes, testifying to the demon hidden beneath.  The Wisp controlling each body.

Veritas nodded, and a small smile crept onto her muzzle as she spoke.

"You have your tasks.  Set to them.  Destroy the Humans' alternatives.  Bring the Genesists low."