The pony constable stared at her.

She stared right back through her Defender’s windshield.

This status-quo would have kept going for hours had it not been for Scarface breaking the silence and laying a hand on her shoulder.

“So you gonna initiate contact or not?” The Bulgarian asked her with a pointed look.

“I’d rather not…” She replied in a low tone, eyes not leaving the unicorn stallion that was still sitting on the hood of his car with an expectant look.

“Seems like he does want to have a few words with us to me. Would be a shame to refuse now, wouldn’t it?” He insisted.

Aleksei’s talons tightened around the wheel. Her eyes left the constable and surveyed the surroundings. She hadn’t paid attention back when they first crossed Carrickfergus, but there were a couple hints that showed the place was inhabited: an inn/pub across the road stood out against the rest of the abandoned buildings around it with its barricaded windows, and the castle had been fortified. Sort of. A pile of tires and a couple pallets blocked off the entrance, but not much more than that. Some cars in the parking lot looked more serviceable than the others too.

The constable wasn’t alone either. If she squinted, she could see a couple equine shapes spying them from between the crenels in the castle, and a couple more hiding inside the inn.

“You got my back?” She eventually sighed, addressing her subordinates.

“Always.” Scarface nodded.

For emphasis, the gargoyle gave a light tap on the rifle he had in his lap.

She left hers in the truck. Might help appease the cop if she didn’t approach him with a loaded rifle. She still had the pistol in her flak jacket’s holster still…

Hold on. No, she had taken a 303 this time instead of a regular pistol. Can’t really kill someone with CS gas-filled paintballs.

Guess she’d really be counting on Scarface to back her up if things went south… Hopefully this wouldn’t be the case.

Then again, to an outside observer, they were a bunch of heavily-armed mismatched guys driving around the country with stolen military equipment. Not really the most trust-inspiring sight. Did they dress inmates in orange in the British Isles? ‘cause if so, Amandine’s de-facto uniform wouldn’t help with first impressions.

Before she had time to realize it, Aleksei’s limbs stopped just short of the constable’s Vauxhall. She tore her eyes away from the asphalt and craned her neck up to look at the pony on the patrol car. Believe it or not, but even regular cars like a Vectra could be deceptively tall when you’re walking around on all fours.

The constable –not that she could remember how they ranked cops around here- was a dark brown unicorn stallion with black eyes. He had the usual square muzzle shape of stallions, albeit with the addition of a black goatee on the underside of his jaw that matched the dark locks spilling out from underneath his police cap. Said cap being ever so slightly pulled back to allow room for the stubby horn on top of his head.

As for his uniform… saying it was ill-fitted would have been an understatement. The stallion was practically swimming in his service shirt, which was only contained by the stab vest he wore above it and to which he had attached the holster for his Glock.

Barring the vest and shirt, he wasn’t wearing anything else, much to Aleksei’s embarrassment at the sight of his bare rear half. Still, that let her take a peek at the Emblem on his flank: a pair of crossed police batons. That made her all the more cautious when paired with the stern look he sported and the actual baton he had attached to the back strap of his vest.

“You’re driving on the wrong side of the road and you don’t have a license plate.” He stated in a Kentish accent.

“Ah…” Aleksei stuttered, cut off before she could even formulate a greeting. “Hello to you too, I guess.”

The stallion eyed the convoy behind her with a scowl.

“Something the matter, Officer…?” She pressed, trailing off inquisitively towards the end.

“Codsworth.” He turned his eyes back toward her. “Figures Finnegan wouldn’t even bother telling his goons my name.” He added with a snort.

Aleksei cocked her head, one of her ears instinctively tilting in confusion at the remark.

“I’m sorry Officer but there seems to be a misunderstanding. I have no idea who this so-called ‘Finnegan’ is, but I can ensure you we’re certainly not working for him.” She said before pointing to her Defender –and more importantly, Amandine’s IMO number painted on the wings-.

This time it was Codsworth’s turn to look confused, though the surprise quickly faded from his features as he reasserted his stern look.

“And if you’re no Provo lady, care to tell me whose group you belong to?”

However tempting it was to outright insult him for calling her ‘lady’, Aleksei elected to keep her acidic remarks for later.

“We’re the World Seafarer Union, Officer. Just a group of sailor from multiple ships that’s been assembling to help whenever we can.” She jabbed a talon back towards the power plant. “Unfortunately two of our ships have been damaged, and we need the power for the repair dock back in Belfast.”

The stallion turned his head south to stare in the docklands’ general direction, a hint of a hopeful look dawning in his eyes.

“Sailors? That’s fantastic!” He exclaimed. “With the Navy’s help we can finally drive out these RIRA traitors and-“

“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Aleksei cut him off. “We’re merchants, not navy. Our goal is to reestablish trade routes and help budding colonies build up their industry, not to fight. All these guns we have, are for monsters.”

“Oh Finnegan’s a monster alright…” Codsworth growled.

“That will be up to the Captains to judge.” She pointed out. “I’ll make sure your case is brought up to their attention and then… then maybe we’ll figure out a course of action.” She trailed off before turning her eyes towards the inn by the side of the road. “If I may ask, what’s happened around here? So I may tell my superiors.”

“He chased us out of town that’s what.” Codsworth replied bitterly. “We had a group going near Belfast Castle but then he started telling everyone they could ‘take back their land’ as he said. Then… it all went down from there, split us all in two groups up until it got so bad the castle got burned down in the argument that ensued. Some of us came here to find shelter, but there is only so much I can do on my own.”

“Nothing to defend yourselves with?”

Well, the UK never was known for allowing its residents to be armed, but at least he as a constable should be armed, right? He did have a pistol in his holster after all.

“We tried to get more weapons for the monsters, but those assholes had already taken all the guns in town, plus them IRA fuckers somehow had an extra stash lying around…” He shook his head. “Figures they would… The other day while I was inspecting the salt mine, a group of our guys went to the City Hall without me. They asked them if they could have some guns.”

“And?”

“Bastards didn’t even open the gates.” He said bitterly. “Father Smith just wanted a mean to defend our group, and they let loose a friggin’ MANTICORE on him!”

Aleksei recoiled a bit at the angry outburst. The hippogriff’s ears flicked a bit, seemingly trying to shake off the ringing the loud cry had sent reverberating through her eardrums.

“Did anyone die?” She asked.

“The manticore stung him before he could run away. Mister Baker managed to bring him back to the inn, but he’s been bedridden ever since.”

“That we might be able to help with.” Aleksei told him. “We got a doctor and a clinic, plus I’m pretty sure we got what we need to make antivenom for manticore venom in store. I just need to go back to Belfast and… I promise we’ll send back someone to deal with, uh…”

“Father Smith.” Codsworth reminded her.

“Father Smith.” She nodded. “We got a Frenchwoman with us, she’s a good doctor, she’ll help. You think Smith can hold on for a couple hours more?”

The police stallion hopped off his car’s hood and opened the door with his telekinesis. In passing, Aleksei noted how he had modified the controls to fit his much smaller frame: a booster seat, as well as a couple makeshift extensions on the pedals so he could reach them with his hind hooves.

“He will hold, but don’t waste time.” He said, turning the ignition to let the convoy pass. Codsworth’s features softened, and Aleksei managed to spot some genuine worry in his eyes. “Please. He doesn’t deserve to die.”

“Uztecies man, he won’t.” Aleksei promised before making her way back to the Defender.

To say Camille was busy would have been the understatement of the day.

With the addition of the labs and the medical scanner, the French Doctor had quickly found herself nearly drowning under an overwhelming pile of experiments, tasks and patients she had to take care of. She was so overloaded she could barely spare time for Vadim’s medical lessons, which was why she had given the Ukrainian griffon a copious amount of academic readings to get through just so she could have a bit of breathing room.

As for the labs themselves… they had been forced to make a couple compromises, but the end result should do the trick. Her dedicated set of containers had been installed one deck above the hydroponics in Rhine’s container bay, but there was only so much she could fit in there. Blame the MRI scanner for that: the bloody thing was huge, needing two FEU containers on its own so she could have enough room to fit bigger species like minotaurs and centaurs while still keeping enough room for other scanners and all the electronics needed to process and store the data.

That was ‘Section 1: scanning’, on the starboard side of her dedicated deck which was split in two by a single passageway connected to the utility lift.

On the opposite side, she had managed to get two laboratory containers. Not nearly enough room for what she wanted, but she did have two other storage containers further down the passageway to store extra lab equipment. If there was anything she needed to do in particular, she could just swap out equipment whenever necessary.

Still left her with only two FEU worth of lab space… which, needless to say, was sub optimal and had forced her to carefully organize operations. So she came up with the most obvious solution: one container would be used for chemistry and potion-making, while the other would be used for the analysis of samples.

‘Section 2: synthesis’ and ‘Section 3: analysis’, both now written in bold red letters on the doors to said labs, alongside a lengthy serie of warnings and PPE specifications. Last thing she wanted was for someone to pop up at random inside either lab and contaminate batches. Considering how much the HPI offered just for biological samples, a contamination was about the last thing she wanted otherwise she’d have to explain to the Captain Gerig why they’d just lost a third of their forecast revenue.

And so she found herself inside of the analysis lab, sifting through her notes with a yawn and a thermos of coffee in talons’ reach. The ventilation –fully internalized to prevent contamination- was on full-blast, making her blue mane feathers bob up and down under the artificial wind. She had the beginnings of a headache developing courtesy of the aggressive neon lighting illuminating the white plastic of the lab around her like a second sun.

Or maybe she had to thank the ever-present smell of chemicals for that. Neither helped, and she pressed a taloned claw against her forehead with a groan.

“Note pour plus tard… remplacer les lampes par des LEDs.” She muttered in her native tongue.

What was she doing again?

Ah, right. The MRI scans. One of the things the HPI wanted was for her to get as many scans of all transformed species as she could. The shady organization seemed genuinely curious about the intricacies of alien biology. So was she, of course. If she wanted to do her job correctly she needed to figure out how her patients worked in the first place…

Maybe they should recruit a vet. She was just a GP after all, and a specialization in workplace injuries didn’t exactly grant her much knowledge about nonhumans.

On the computer screen in front of her were several scans of griffons -both male and female- to which she had started adding annotations and color filters to highlight organs here and there. The most important of which would be their air sacs and dual-heart structure. As far as she knew, not something very common in mammals… birds… whatever classification group she was supposed to put them into.

Her headache spiked.

And they were only the first species she was looking at. After doing that, she still had to look forward to about two dozen other species, and then the other tests.

She needed to take blood samples to evaluate whether or not vaccines had carried over after the transformation. And maybe why all species seemingly shared the same blood group system. There was no reason why a minotaur should be compatible with an Abyssinian, yet both fell in group B and could definitely transfuse each other’s blood.

Then she needed to start evaluating blood composition and maybe extend that to a quick survey of their endocrine systems. If blood was so similar to humans, then with a bit of luck hormones would be too, and she might be able to figure out how birth control should work for the species that went through a heat season.

Which she was thankfully spared from, as long as she kept a steady diet if the Equestrian books didn’t lie. Needing to eat a lot to trigger estrus made sense… in its own twisted way.

Still not as weird as a griffon’s method of triggering estrus.

And finally she had to complete the big order the HPI wanted most of all. They had asked for samples… in the form of pure DNA. Not hair follicles. Not saliva samples. Pure DNA separated from any contaminants or proteins.

Not that it couldn’t be done… DNA isolation was a relatively common procedure. It just would be extremely tedious to do it several times over for multiple individuals per species, and she couldn’t even start it in advance otherwise the samples might spoil before they reached the delivery point and the HPI’s scientific board had specified they wanted a three-week spoilage window upon delivery.

She might need to train Vadim on how to use the lab equipment otherwise she’d never be able to finish it all in time.

And just as she was busy starting the annotation work on the digestive track of griffons, her reflections were brought to a grinding halt by the ringing of the interphone next to the lab’s entrance.

With a sigh, Camille stood up and resigned herself to the fact she wouldn’t get much work done that evening.

“Doc Delacroix, Analysis lab, what’s the matter?” She immediately said upon picking up the phone.

There was a pause as whoever was on the other end of the line began chattering rapidly.

“Only one casualty?” Camille asked.

Another pause.

“And manticore venom you say? Alright listen up… I’m gonna check whether we already got the ingredients. You go to Amandine and tell your colleague Vadim to get the ambulance ready.”

The other person asked a quick question.

“Yes we have one! The military ambulance, the one Valentyn got from that base in Denmark. Six wheels, olive green with armor plating. You tell him to get that one and come to the lab ASAP; I’ll see what I can do on my end.” Camille ordered before putting the handset back in place. Her headache throbbed.

Without missing a beat, the French hippogriff left the analysis lab and immediately took a turn next door into the synthesis lab. Its insides were pretty much identical to those of the lab she had just left, with the same overall mood and lighting, except that one had a larger refrigerated storage for all the alchemical ingredients brought in from hydroponics.

And she wasn’t alone this time.

Asha was already there, the Congolese centaur having shed her usual rugged coveralls –well, at least the approximation of which centaurs wore- in favor of a lab coat and a long white dress sheet to cover her impala half.

“Evening Asha, everything in order?” Camille asked as she barged in.

“Yes ma’am.” The Cadet nodded, waving a red-skinned hand over an aluminum tray full of freshly-cut plants. “Just getting the ingredients from the first harvest ready for processing.”

“Good… good.” The Doctor nodded distractedly. “Keep going.”

If Camille was surprised by how quickly the plants had managed to grow under Asha’s centaurian influence, she didn’t say.

But having the plants wasn’t all, hence why the centaur was standing in front of some basic chemistry apparatus. Some flowers needed to have their components separated from different uses, others needed to have this part or that processed and ground down. It varied.

Right then, Asha was in the process of separating the petals from an Equestrian flower. Some type of orchid with a shiny yellow stem and iridescent petals she couldn’t remember the name of. By the looks of it, the stigma was to be ground, the petals kept separate and the stem pressed for its sap.

No matter. Camille moved past the centaur and made a beeline for a small library set next to the storage part of the lab. She grabbed the first book in reach, a copy of a potion manual the Equestrians had shown them. They had scanned and reprinted it on proper, modern paper, her talons expertly flicking over the supple plasticized cover as she immediately skipped to the ‘poison’ tab.

Whichever equine had written the manuscript version had had the foresight of putting the general antivenin recipe at the beginning of the chapter. Her eyes perused the contents appreciatively. Simple process: make a general formula that can keep for a while in large quantities, and then apparently the potion could be altered by adding a small reagent depending on which monster’s venom was involved.

Didn’t work on mundane creatures though. Pity.

Camille flipped the page to the ‘manticore’ tab.

She swore.

‘Caution: venom sample required’

“Asha?” Camille called over her shoulder.

“Yes ma’am?” The centaur didn’t turn her head away from her work, but her ears flicked in her general direction.

“I gotta go downtown, but I need you to do something.” She said, depositing the book on the counter next to the centaur. She had to crane her neck up to look the Congolese in the eye. “Please prepare the general formula here for the antivenin. Third Officer Zinoviya will come pick it up later but I need to get an ingredient to finish it. If he asks, tell him I’ll meet him in Carrickfergus later.”

Without waiting for an answer from the Cadet, Camille left the lab in a hurry. She just needed to pay a quick visit to the mess hall to requisition a couple sailors, and then…

Then she’d better hope the manticore’s carcass wasn’t too rotten.

Away from the worries of the Doctor, the three Captains had assembled around supper inside of Dilip’s quarters, the Diamond Dog having insisted on inviting Fugro’s Captain to discuss matters around a meal.

With a few subtleties of course. Amandine’s Captain had quickly understood it was better to avoid drinking alcohol in the presence of Raimund –being unable to drink anymore due to her rejuvenated age irked the German to no end-, and that Rahul’s tried-and-true coconut curry worked perfectly with both vegetarians and carnivores at the same table.

The filly in front of him had a fully-vegetarian plate, while the spices kept her from noticing the bits of chicken in his and Skinner’s own.

Speaking of which, the Scot seemed… cautious, to put it mildly. And that was beyond his species’ tendency to favor flight over fight.

Most likely he was still a bit shell-shocked from his ship’s return. How long had it been already? Still less than a week.

“Something on your mind, Skinner?” Dilip politely asked between two bites.

“Sorry, it’s just…” The Hedgefog tiredly swept a paw through his quills, accidentally releasing a few weak electric arcs with the sharp white protrusions. “It’s all going so darn fast. I mean… Christ, me and me lads barely got time to attach the mooring lines before your guys in America…”

“The HPI.” Raimund reminded.

“Yeah, them.” Skinner said, his Scottish accent seeping in from him being flustered. “I mean… I’m still shocked when I look meself in th’mirror. Some o’ me lads are lassies now, my engie’s got no hands and I just had a collision all within a few days before getting offered a contract by the shadiest agency I e’er heard of.”

He paused to take a breath before turning an eye towards Raimund, who just returned the look with a raised eyebrow.

“And of course I’m bein’ told I gotta thank that wee lass for towin’ us back to port. And that you’re supposedly older than me.”

“Still not used to it myself frankly.” Raimund shrugged.

“No… no no no.” Skinner shook his head firmly. “There is no way a creature like ye’ should be speakin’ with a German accent like that.”

“Sorry, not sorry. You got a nice roll of the dice, I didn’t.” She replied.

“Yeah… guess ye’re right.” Skinner sighed, poking tentatively at his food with his fork. “Still, ah thought we had already hammered out all the details for our… cooperation already. Told ya’ I’d join your fleet. No sense not doing it if I have a HPI contract.”

Dilip threw Raimund a glance before laying his fork down next to his plate. The Indian leaned back in his seat before finally opening his muzzle.

“It’s not about crew matters, not about the ships, or even what we’re going to do in the future. That can wait for tomorrow.” Dilip began. “What we want… is your opinion.”

Skinner looked cautiously at Dilip before motioning for the dog to continue.

“I’ll be honest… neither I nor Raimund think we’re qualified to take a position on the subject. We, as a German and an Indian, have no right intervening in such a matter, which you have by virtue of being from the UK.”

“Go on…”

“The IRA’s in town.” Dilip stated.

Skinner swore.

“What’s the situation?” The Hedgefog asked.

“We’re not sure. It’s still a bit hazy.” Raimund explained. “Yesterday our recon team said they found the City Hall fortified with an Irish flag hanging above it, and today the same team found some British Loyalists holed up in Carrickfergus. We’ve authorized a medical team to go help with an injured priest there but that’s about it.”

“The Brits say the IRA guys basically ran them out of town and sicced a monster on them.” Dilip added.

“And what do the Provos have to say to that?”

“I’m sorry, Provo?” Raimund cocked her head.

“Short for Provisional. Don’t bother… For all I know they’re probably RIRA anyway.” Skinner waved off the question. “Still, what about them?”

“We haven’t initiated contact yet.” Dilip explained. “Out of caution, I’ve ordered my ratings to keep the CV90 prepped for combat.”

The Hedgefog let out a sigh and stared the Indian in the eye.

“Ok listen… I’ll be straight with you, and I’m sayin’ that knowin’ I got a couple peeps from this here island on my crew… don’t get involved. The Troubles were already a stinkin’ pile of blazin’ shite, and if it’s gonna reignite, then it’s just better if us sailors let it burn on its own without adding fuel to the fire. Have a chat with the Irish if you wanna…” He clicked his tongue before taking a sip of water. “But lemme tell you, the fate of Ireland isn’t the hill I’d choose to die on. Don't meddle, otherwise they just might gift ye sum' fertilizer.”

“Well uh…” Raimund muttered.

“That’s a bit of a pity… I mean, we had all these humanitarian supplies and this plan to prevent civilization from falling apart entirely.” Dilip completed.

“Play the Switzerland card then.” Skinner simply said with a shrug.

“Beg your pardon?”

“It is not our place, nor our right to intervene, you said it.” He repeated. “But what you may be able to do is help both groups with the simple stuff. Shelter, a bit of medicine here and there. But the rest? Let them sort out the politics.”

Dilip got a pensive look on his muzzle.

“That might work…” He muttered, stroking his chin. “Might not pass with some of your crewmembers…”

“Then they shall cry.” Skinner cut him off, rolling his eyes.

“Your crew, your choices.” Dilip said, one paw raised in a placating manner. “But as I was saying, we could just drop a radio relay as we’re leaving, give both some basic transmission equipment, and then tell them we’re open for trade once they sort their shit out.”

“Trade what?”

Dilip jabbed a thumb towards the window, from where they could still see Kilroot’s smokestack.

“Exhibit A: coal and oil for electricity. Or even recycled diesel. Schmitt told me the prototype oil recycler was working alright the first test, so we just need to implement it to full-scale models.”

He flicked his digit towards the window on the opposite side of the room, from where they could see the full extent of the docklands.

“Exhibit B: parts and the repair yard. I’d sleep a lot easier knowing this place is kept in working order after we left, and we can’t take all the machining shops along either way. Bet you any part we could barter from them if they can be arsed making them would be a hell of a lot cheaper than what the HPI can offer.”

“Okay you got me. Bring fuel, get parts.” Raimund nodded.

“Or anything else they feel like trading for.” Dilip added. “It’s an open deal.”

“That’s only if the situation here remains stable.” Skinner reminded. “It’s okay to dream about juicy deals if you want to… but I wouldn’t expect too much from them.”

“That’s still fine by me.” Raimund declared before she crossed her forehooves on the table and addressed the two other Captains a serious look.

Or as serious a look as could be achieved by a pink filly with baby blue eyes.

“But this brings something to my attention. Skinner, you’re right to think it’s not our right to intervene in how survivors choose to govern themselves. So I say we put the Switzerland clause into policy.”

“Details maybe?” Skinner asked.

“Of course.” She nodded. “What I mean, is that we put in our uh… mission statement, for a lack of a better word, that the WSU, as a trade-focused organization, shall never infringeon the local governance and politics of colonies. We shall however provide defense against monsters and demons, medical and humanitarian assistance, as well as aid in the industrial development of colonies with the eventual goal of their insertion in an inter-colonial trade network…”

“Nicely phrased…” Skinner drawled. “But I get the feelin’ this ain’t gonna be as easy as you make it sound lass.”

“Ain’t that true…” Raimund admitted. “And don’t call me lass, Skinner.” She added with a mild glare.

“Edgar to ya’, kraut.” The Hedgefog grinned.

The sun had long set by the time Camille reached the manticore’s carcass. Her Defender’s tires screeched as it came to a halt near the rotting monster, in full view of the City Hall. There were lights coming from behind the fortified building’s barricades, but the hippogriff didn’t pay them much attention.

“Keep an eye out for me; I need to get a venom extract from that thing.” She told Mikhail as she exited the vehicle, her medical satchel slung over her back.

She had no reason to believe the situation could go too badly right then. She had two dragon veterans escorting her in the form of Mikhail and Artyom. Anyone dumb enough to attack them would be in for some serious trouble, more so considering the amount of frag grenades Mikhail was now packing to go with his M203.

What got her attention was the monster’s tail. She swatted a swarm of flies out of the way as she approached the chitin-covered appendage. The stinger at the tip of the tail alone was nearly as big as a pony’s head, looking more like it would fit at the end of a giant scorpion rather than the mostly leonine chimera that was a manticore.

And it stank. Badly. Camille suppressed a gag before forcing herself to approach the rotting thing. At least the bestiary told her the venom kept for a while.

“I’d hurry if I were you doc.” Mikhail warned her as he spotted more lights appear at the top of the barricades around the City Hall.

“I’ll need a minute.” She replied, pulling out a couple vials from her satchel one by one.

What was the procedure again? Put the vial against the stinger… then there was one spot she needed to press with her talon around… there?

A spurt of greenish poison squirted out of the stinger, which she barely managed to dodge as it landed on the asphalt. Right, put the vial to the stinger before checking whether it works. Camille made sure she filled up all her vials before standing up with a satisfied nod. That supply should last them a while, and if she recalled correctly there were a couple interesting potions that also required manticore venom beyond just the antivenin.

“Doc?” Mikhail repeated, the purple dragon’s eyes not leaving the City Hall.

“There, done!” Camille exclaimed after securing the vials inside her satchel. The hippogriff half flew-half ran back inside the little truck before ordering the Ukrainian to get them to Carrickfergus with a squawk.

He didn’t make her repeat herself twice. The Defender practically spun on its axles before speeding away in the opposite direction with a roar of its turbodiesel.

From atop the City Hall’s barricades, a green dragon eyed the red taillights disappear around a corner pensively before hopping off the watchtower, his wings catching him just before he landed.

“Everyone back to your posts, false alarm.” He barked out in Irish Gaelic.

The crowd of survivors that had formed around him dispersed quickly. Most of them were dragons, some ponies, and also a couple centaurs and Hedgefogs. Most also wore camouflaged clothing and black berets.

They were also all armed.

In the distance, the noise from the truck’s engine faded away. Finnegan had an inkling of an idea as to what they had been doing to the manticore… but he’d have to get around to visiting the sailors to confirm it.

Tomorrow.

Vadim had already parked in Carrickfergus by the time Camille caught up to him.

It didn’t take much more than a glance for the French hippogriff to notice how much smaller that colony was compared to their rivals in Belfast. There were a couple lights coming from the castle next to the marina, but most of them came from the inn where she found Vadim’s ambulance. Probably a lot more comfortable to live in that than in an old fort that hasn’t been lived in for nearly a century.

As for the inn, most of its windows had been boarded up at ground level, as well as a couple of the bigger ones upstairs, but that was about all when it came to what the locals had done to the place. Off to the side, a portable generator had been installed in an alleyway, alongside a rather impressive pile of aluminum jerrycans.

“That… doesn’t look very secure.” Artyom commented as he looked around the area for guards.

Except there weren’t any, save for Sri. The Indonesian hippogriff was sitting on her haunches atop the ambulance, cigarette in her beak and machinegun down on its bipod in front of her as she kept an eye on the area. She acknowledged their arrival with a nod before turning her eyes back to the main road.

“From what I heard they barely have any weapons.” Camille explained while they pulled into the parking. “The IRA’s got all the stash that could be found in town.”

“That can’t end well…” The Russian mumbled.

“This whole mess sounds like aftershocks from the Troubles, why would you expect it to end well?” Camille fired back before stepping out on the parking.

The only lightning outside came from what little light streamed out of the gaps between the planks that blocked off the windows, leaving them in a dim light that was barely enough for her to zigzag her way through the handful of cars parked in front of the inn before she finally reached the door.

A chime rung the moment she pushed inside.

The number of survivors inside was as she had expected: limited. A pony and a Hedgefog were tending the bar and passing plates to a couple sullen-looking patrons sitting either on stools at the bar, or at the couple tables around the room.

She spotted a family of four Hedgefogs with two kids sharing dinner in an alcove near the windows, as well as a centaur wearing a white shirt and tie glumly throwing darts at a board next to the toilets’ entrance.

For an Irish pub the mood was terrible, but at least they had electricity going.

Artyom apparently preferred to stay outside to chat with Sri, leaving it up to Mikhail to follow her inside, both of them making a beeline for the bar.

“’scuse me, have you seen my colleague?” She asked the barpony. “He came earlier to treat the priest.”

The dull-furred stallion just pointed a hoof towards a staircase before returning to wiping the bar counter with a soaked rag.

“Rude much…” Camille thought before giving a mental shrug and heading for the stairs.

The wooden steps creaked under her weight when she made her way up towards the inn’s bedrooms. Up above, she was greeted to the sight of a soft carpeted floor and walls covered in varnished planks with rows of doors on either side of her. Only one of them was open, the last bedroom at the end of the hallway.

Vadim’s accented voice could be heard coming from there too.

She found the griffon talking in a hushed tone with a pony constable inside the simple bedroom. Beyond them, on the bed, lay an unconscious Hedgefog. His black priestly robes were hung on a peg by his bedside with a black bible on the nighstand.

He didn’t look too good. His coarse dark gray fur clung to his frame perspiration that soaked the thin bed sheets, which made him appear even more emaciated than he already was. Unconscious, he had his narrow snout parted, ribcage rising and falling, feeble but steady.

Camille’s eyes drifted down to where the sheets had been pulled away to reveal a heavily bandaged leg. The bandages were fresh, properly wrapped around the priest’s thigh, and with the telltale orange hue of disinfectant, some of which had stained the sheets underneath the patient.

“I already treated the wound.” Vadim declared when he noticed her. “But… it was infected. Necrotic tissues all around the sting. I did a debridement to remove it but the necrosis had already started to seep into the muscle tissue. Had to cut into that I’m afraid.”

The French hippogriff instinctively pulled out a pair of nitrile gloves to inspect what she could see of the wound.

“Explain.” She asked him.

“Dead tissue in a three-centimeter radius around the sting, going about half as that deep into the muscle. Cut it off to only leave healthy tissue behind but I fear he may not recover all motor functions.”

“No shit he won’t.” Camille sniffed, now noticing the depression in the center of the bandages. “Is there skin over the wound?”

“Thankfully I managed it, yes.” Vadim nodded. “The scar will be nasty, but if he keeps to his antibiotic treatment and doesn’t move around too much for say…” He made a point of looking at the constable as he said that. “Two weeks, that should do. Problem is the fever and the poison that’s still in the bloodstream. Apparently he hasn’t been fully awake ever since he got stung, and from the tremors he’s got I think he may have nerve damage. Bet it’s from the poison. Mostly affects the limbs and extremities.”

“I got something for the poison at least.” Camille said as she pulled out a vial of manticore venom from her satchel. “Asha gave you the base potion?”

Vadim nodded, turning to his own medical supplies to grab an Erlenmeyer capped with a paraffin seal.

Working from that, assembling the antivenin was a simple affair. A couple drops of venom in the potion, which was then immediately plugged into an IV that would remove all toxins from the Hedgefog’s bloodstream.

Except… it didn’t just stop there. The two medics shared a look. They knew if they left things be, even after recovering in optimal conditions the priest would be left with nerve damage, tremors, and a severe loss of motor functions in his injured leg.

Had it been before the Event, that might have been all they could have done without resorting to specialists. But now… they could technically fix him up entirely if –big if- they could spare a couple healthcare-grade health potions.

The same potions for which they only had ingredients in limited supply, and for which there already was a waiting list in their own fleet.

Author's Notes:

If I'm entirely honest, I don't believe you can expect to stay out of local politics if you trade. They'd inevitably affect the balance of power between factions and get roped in no matter what.

On another note, manticore venom. Last I checked with animals you could reliably go with 'the bigger the critter, the weaker the venom'. Meaning you could survive reasonably long with a sting in your bloodstream.

Of course, looking at the priest, you probably wouldn't enjoy the experience much.