The night passed, and eventually the sun rose up once more above Northern Ireland with a clear sky. As soon as the clock hit eight, sailors started spilling out from the three moored ships, each of them fanning out to go fulfill their daily tasks like diligent worker ants.

Some went towards the outer perimeter to relieve the night’s watch at the checkpoint.

Some made a beeline for the one workshop they were using to gather all the spare parts and materials found all over the docklands.

The last significant group headed towards Fugro Symphony: they were the ‘instructors’. Fugro’s crew still had a lot to learn about their new forms, from magic to flight, including some basic biology Doctor Delacroix had ordered Marta to teach them.

“I don’t see the recon team.” Alejandro frowned as he looked down the bridge’s windows at the docklands.

“Which one?” Schmitt replied, the orange dragon momentarily tearing her eyes away from the documents she was perusing.

“Aleksei’s.” The parrot replied. “We got more?”

“Come to think of it… no. Either way, I told them to wait ‘til 10 before heading to Kilroot.” She explained. “We won’t need them restarting power earlier than that. How’s the docking plan for Fugro by the way? Think we can put her on the blocks this evening?”

“It’s ready.” Alejandro told her. “Finished it yesterday with McClelland, including planning the de-ballasting procedure for the critical period. I just need the blocks set up for her hull form and the pumps ready; then we can move on.”

“Oh…” Schmitt blinked. “Busy as ever I see. I’m afraid I wasn’t quite as fast planning it for our own ship.”

“Doesn’t matter.” The hyacinth macaw shrugged. “We got more than a week before the plan will even need them. If it wasn’t the docking that was taking up your time, what then?”

She hefted up a stack of papers for him to see.

“The repair plans. I’m trying to solve our little parts conundrum.”

“And?” He asked her, the crest feathers atop his head rising slightly in curiosity.

“Well… at least the hull beams and plating are sorted out. Somewhat.” She sighed. “It’s the advanced machinery that’s gonna be a problem.”

The two of them heard the door open behind them.

“And how is it going to be a problem exactly?” Dilip joined in, as the Diamond Dog came up the stairs that connected the bridge to the accommodation.

Behind him, Amandine’s two department heads also took note of McClelland herself –the white mare still clad in an oily set of coveralls-, as well as Quinn and Skinner. Respectively, Fugro’s Chief Engineer, her Captain, and her Chief Officer.

All three had also spared the time to adjust their wardrobes to their new forms. No more torn up coveralls and ill-fitted clothing at least.

“The need for finicky parts is the problem. Take Fugro for instance…” She explained as she pulled a list of parts from the stack. “I think that given enough time we can machine the parts needed to fix her engine. At a glance, they’re all relatively small so that should be manageable. Problem is the quality. We just can’t reach the standards of the original, so the quality will be… sub-par, and I’m trying to stay polite.”

“Well that was expected from the start. How is that such a big problem now?” Dilip asked.

“It’s a matter of engine uptime.” The orange dragon scowled, a puff of smoke escaping her nostrils. “It’s as I said… the engines will absolutely work. They may even achieve as much power as they were intended to. But the big problem is the parts won’t last as long between breakdowns. Frankly, I’ll be happy if what our guys can make lasts half as long as the original Rolls Royce-made parts.”

Skinner seemed to consider that for a moment before the Hedgefog crossed his arms and leaned against the back wall.

“Aye, I figure that might be a problem in the long run. But won’t that affect you as well? I mean… your bow thruster is damaged as well, down to its genset if I recall.” He shrugged.

“True, but the bow thruster isn’t the main propulsion. We only ever use it for a couple hours at a time. Your engine though? It’s got to stay active for weeks on end. That’s one bad thing already, but there is worse. You say your port propeller shaft is broken?”

Skinner nodded.

“And that it’s a variable pitch propeller?”

He nodded again.

“Then I’m afraid we can’t get that functionality back. We can make the shaft hollow for lubrication and all…” She waved her claw around. “But if you want the pitch control, that’s gonna have to wait until we reach the US and order the parts for it from the HPI. I’m really sorry. We’ve found plenty of small-sized propellers for maneuvering thrusters lying around, but propeller shafts aren’t that easy to acquire. It’s gonna have to be a machined one.”

Fugro’s Captain sighed before turning his head towards Quinn. The short black dragon was glaring a hole in the floor, scaly tail lashing from side to side.

“Think you can work around that Chief?” Skinner asked him.

“’shouldn’t affect maneuvers too badly…” The Irish muttered. “But it’s transit sailing that’s bothering me. I’ll need to have someone look at the coding in the autopilot and reprogram it from the ground up. As is, I think the system considers the port prop to be the ‘slave’ and starboard ‘master’, so it always adjusts rpm on the port side to match starboard. That’s gotta change, because without pitch control the system will try to do the next thing to change rpm, which is change the speed on the electric motor that’s turning the shaft. Un-ideal. Might even damage the motor in the long run.”

“But it can work?” Skinner pressed.

“With some elbow grease… yes.” The dragon reluctantly conceded. “I might need some help re-coding it though.”

“We got an Engineer that can help with that.” Dilip reassured him. “Parts aside, I wanted to know whether we all agree Fugro’s ready to enter dock?”

There was a chorus of ‘aye’s’ around the bridge, after which the Indian addressed Alejandro a pointed look. The Spaniard took it as his cue to start explaining the procedure.

First step first: the recce team in Kilroot. Aleksei’s team would go to the power station and begin the startup procedure to bring back power to the city’s grid. They would then move back towards Belfast, reactivating substations to direct current towards the docklands as they went.

As soon as they got the current flowing at the repair yard, the team down in the pumphouse would rev up the centrifugal pumps in there and start filling up the basin. By the time they got to that point, a third team should have already installed the blocks on which they would rest Fugro’s hull once she was in the dry.

If the blocks weren’t in place by then, no matter. They could always dispatch a couple seapony divers to install them as they were filling up the basin.

Once that step was done -and only then- they’d be able to open the floodgates that separated the harbor from the graving dock’s basin. Doing it any sooner would damage the gates because of the sheer pressure differential and could render the entire dock unusable.

After that came the moment where they’d finally pull Fugro inside the dock. For that, a couple of Rhine’s tug would be dispatched to slowly tow the damaged vessel inside, their relatively small side allowing them to slip back out before they closed off the basin.

At least their transformation came with several advantages. Sphinxes, gargoyles and unicorns could easily lift up and tie the lines they needed to keep the ship in place; and they also had seaponies replacing the usual divers that would ensure the ship stayed above the blocks at all times.

Yet that wasn’t even the last hurdle along the way. Stability always was a key issue when handling docking, and Fugro would be no exception. See, the matter with stability when docking is that, as soon as the stern of the keel lands on the supporting blocks, the ship’s righting lever starts to shrink away like ice in Mali. If the ballast system was not properly monitored in that span of time, the ship could easily roll over and come crashing down on her side.

Not something they would want to occur. This was why Alejandro was so thorough when he went through the process of detailing the procedure to Fugro’s Captain. That would be, by far, the most dangerous step of the entire operation.

Anything that happened afterwards was trivial in comparison: set up the scaffolding around the ship, plug in shore power, and begin the repair process.

Oh, and of course Fugro’s crew would have to sleep on Rhine for as long as it would take to repair their ship. Not much of a problem. They had already installed containerized cabins in the container bay way back when they were in Copenhagen.

“Sounds good to you?” The Spaniard finally concluded, crossing his arms over his chest confidently.

“That’s a green light from me.” Skinner nodded, signing all the documents the macaw had shown him while giving his explanation before handing them over to Quinn. “When do you think we’ll start?”

“That’s a wild guess…” Alej’ said, checking the clock. “But if we don’t have any delays with the power station, I figure we’ll start filling the basin by late afternoon, maybe early evening.”

“And thus have the dock ready for Fugro by tomorrow, got it.” McClelland guessed. “So that just leaves managing manpower around the docks and we’re good. Now-“

The white mare was cut short by a polite cough courtesy of Dilip. The bronze-furred Diamond Dog gave her an apologetic look before waving his paw towards the windows. More importantly, towards the repair yard’s southern checkpoint.

“That may have to wait.” Dilip said. “For now, it appears we have company.”

A few hundred meters in front of the checkpoint, a trio of dragons had stopped, all three clad in military fatigues with black berets.

“Well, we knew they’d turn up eventually…” Skinner sighed. “Guess it’s time to go and greet ‘em.”

A couple decks below in the vehicle bay, Vadim was busy resupplying the military ambulance’s inventory after his little intervention in Carrickfergus. The griffon was squeezed between the two gurneys in the rear bay, calmly reading his way through a checklist.

He had set down a loudspeaker on one of the gurneys, currently playing some of his own violin recordings, though the sound of the ventilation in the car deck nearly drowned out the music. Still, he found himself humming to the tune, a very avian trill escaping the grey falcon’s beak while he ensured the vehicle would be properly stocked for its next outing.

At a glance the clutter inside the Duro’s patient compartment made it seem far more complicated than it really was. There were two ‘slots’ for patients onto which gurneys could be mounted, leaving just enough room in the back for one single medic to sit and leave using a small lateral hatch.

Above the gurneys, a couple modular rails ran along the walls and ceiling of the compartment, allowing him to attach whatever was needed: shelving units, monitoring equipment, oxygen bottles, the obligatory EMT satchel…

All in all, there wasn’t much that needed to be replaced after the single intervention in Carrickfergus, though he did add a couple vials of the antivenin potion Asha had made for the occasion.

Potions that currently were the subject of his thoughts.

The previous day, he’d had a lengthy conversation with Camille as soon as they got back from Carrickfergus. About the healing potions, specifically. The first-aid variant may have been relatively simple to make, inexpensive even, but its use was rather limited. Sure it could close small wounds and stabilize a victim, so as far in the field of tactical care and emergencies, the variant was just fine.

But it didn’t hold a candle to the healthcare variant. Using a first-aid variant on a gash would close it quickly, but the wound still needed stitches to avoid creating a seriously ugly piece of scar tissue.

Compare that to the variant they were trying so hard to put in production… which could fix any damaged tissue and even regrow it.

Using it on Father Smith would fix the nerve damage causing his tremors and replace all the muscle tissue lost to necrosis.

Using it on Carlos would let him get his eye back.

Using a fraction of a dose on Boris would fix his scapular fracture overnight, let alone the internal bruising in his chest cavity.

It could have saved Yancy…

But it was just so bloody expensive! Asha had been at it for weeks already, using one of the fastest growing methods human technology had available, paired with centaur magic, and only now were they getting enough ingredients for one potion. Granted, the fact they had that solution available in the first place was a Godsend, but they needed it.

And they needed it faster.

There was only so much a badly-trained Medical Officer, a GP and a Nurse could do. Even with the recent addition of Fugro’s doctor. In addition to that, his ‘Medical Assistant’ had to go and get shot.

Damn you Boris…

“Of course your dumb ass is stuck in your cabin and I gotta do this stuff alone…” Vadim grumbled to himself as he finally finished tidying up the ambulance.

“You talk to yourself in English now?” Someone asked in Russian right behind him.

“JESUS CHRIST!” Vadim squawked out, his wings unfurling in surprise and accidentally catapulting himself against the ceiling with a loud ‘thunk!’.

“No, just Boris.” The other griffon chuckled.

“What- what the Hell are you doing here?” Vadim growled; talons clutched around his throbbing head. “You’re supposed to be resting for at least a few days more!”

The Officer spared a moment to take a look at his colleague and –dare he say- drinking buddy. The goshawk/lion griffon wasn’t wearing coveralls, instead choosing to wear a white tracksuit with black stripes. Oddly well sewn too, it covered him from the base of his tail to his chest, clinging to his frame like a glove and further highlighting his stocky build.

He had even managed to piece together a pair of running shoes and gloves that matched the tracksuit.

Nevertheless, as well fashioned as his clothes were –by their standards at least-, he was still visibly wounded: he had both one arm and the wing on the same side completely immobilized in a sling.

White bandages peeked from beneath his collar, their color almost blending in with the brown-and-white striped pattern of down feathers the goshawk had on his chest.

“Perestan' bespokoit'sya, I know it’s fine.” Boris insisted, sitting down on his haunches in front of his superior. “I’m getting stir-crazy from being cooped up inside all day long. Or did you forget we griffons need the sky? Shit, I think if I stayed in that cabin any longer I’d become claustrophobic…” He said with a shudder.

Vadim didn’t miss the subtle grimace that warped his Russian friend’s break.

“Yeah, somehow I doubt that.” Vadim growled out, not believing him for a second.

The Third Officer brushed his talons over his still aching head before padding closer to Boris. Going by the way the Russian’s tail went still the moment he got closer; he damn well knew he shouldn’t have made his presence known so casually.

Vadim only poked him in the chest once. Tough as he thought he was, the single talon connecting with muscles that were still sore from the recovery process was enough to make him keel over with a pained hiss. And thus he found himself embarrassingly looking up at the Ukrainian, lying down on his uninjured side.

“As I thought…” Vadim rolled his eyes. “You know, if you wanted to go outside you could have just asked Anton to get a wheelch-“

“Nyet!” Boris hurriedly stopped him.

Vadim quirked a feathery brow at the reaction.

“Is there a problem with Anton? I thought you two had found stuff to bond over. I mean, she did volunteer to take care of you.” He reminded.

“No- I mean, yes there is, but… no.” Boris stuttered before letting himself droop with a frustrated groan. “Look… from a drinking buddy to another, I need your advice.”

Vadim raised his eyes to give a quick look around them. There were vehicles and containers all around, with no one in sight, but he could hear some sailors working in close proximity, as well as steps coming and leaving from the nearby workshop.

Might need some privacy.

“Get on the gurney.” He ordered the injured griffon just as he reopened the ambulance’s patient compartment. “For what it’s worth, I’ll give your wounds a check-up while you be nice and tell Uncle Vadim what’s wrong.”

“I’m like… ten years older than you.” The Russian grumbled.

“Only physically, if I’m one to judge.” Vadim replied with a grunt, helping the somewhat larger griffon climb inside before shutting the rear doors without making a sound.

Once they were inside, Vadim folded one of the two gurneys and flicked the light switch with a talon, a couple small white neon lights coming on above them. Boris didn’t need to be told to remove his jacket, and so Vadim went to work on inspecting the bandages.

“So if claustrophobia is only part of why you’re here, care to tell me what exactly is wrong with Anton, uh?” He began, one claw reaching for the nitrile gloves stored above the gurney.

“It’s complicated.” Boris muttered.

“Everything is. Try again.”

“Anton uh… I like her. I mean, I really like her. At first to be honest it was just because… well, she’s hot. But now… we’ve talked. A lot.”

“I don’t see how that’s a problem.”

Boris gritted his beak as he felt his friend’s talons prod increasingly closer to where the bullet had exited his shoulderblade. A mere touch in the area was enough to make his muscles twitch and his tail lash out with its hair fluffed up.

Still, he forced himself not to move and let the other griffon carry out his inspection while he mulled how to properly phrase it.

“Griffon instincts.” He finally told.

Vadim just threw him a look, motioning with his talons for the Russian to go on.

“Well, uh… do you by any chance know if it’s possible to pair bond without mating?”

Vadim paused.

“You two are an item now?”

“That’s the point: I don’t know! Look, I ain’t dumb, I didn’t forget about the whole mechanism, but I thought it implied you know…”

“Sexual activity, yes.” Vadim clicked his beak. “So did I. That’s how it went between me and Micha at least.”

“But we haven’t!” Boris exclaimed. “We’re close, sure, but not that close.”

“I might need some details to compare.”

“Promise you won’t tell?”

“Of course.” Vadim rolled his eyes. “At this point you might as well call it medical privacy.”

“Well uh…” Boris began. “At first it was rather tame. I was a bit flirty maybe, but she ignored it on the first days when we were still in Copenhagen and she was still on Rhine.”

“That changed when she came aboard?”

“It did.” Boris nodded. “She was here more often, and since she doesn’t have friends on board -that I know of at least-, she stuck around beyond just helping me around my cabin and changing the bandages. So we started talking and…” He smiled wistfully. “There’s so much we have in common! She gets me like no other girl ever got me before, we like the same stuff, we think alike.”

“So I take it that’s the point you were getting at?” Vadim gave him a knowing look.

Hopelessly in love, he was.

“Not quite. The collision’s the point where it got… weird. We were watching a movie together and then the alarm rang. Went fucking flying, pain like I had been shot again… but there was her. It’s like someone had flipped a switch.”

“A switch you say?”

“Yeah. She didn’t want to go back to her cabin anymore, so she insisted to sleep on the couch I looted in Copenhagen. I didn’t have the heart to refuse but man, before that may have been like I was in love and I can recognize that but then…”He trailed off with wide eyes. “I swear every fantasy chick I ever had mind’s been replaced by her, she’s in every stray thought I have, I… I just can’t get my mind off of her. It’s scary.”

“What about her? Any change in behavior you’ve noted?”

“She… she’s a lot clingier than before. And protective. Very protective. You won’t believe what I had to do just to sneak away.”

“Physical contact?”

“Pardon?”

“Do you…” Vadim clicked his beak. “Rub against each other? Preen together? Any physical contact that’s not necessarily sexual?”

“I guess that’s changed too.” Boris glared a hole in the gurney. “Vad’, am I bonded to her?” He asked anxiously.

“You make that sound like it’s a bad thing. C’mon, where’s the badass gopnik I always went out with? That ain’t like you to worry like that.”

“We bond for life damn it! I… I thought I could just get to know her and not risk too much…” He said, deflating. “I was so sure I had it under control, but now because I somehow misinterpreted what we were told I’m gonna be stuck with her for the rest of my life? I love her sure… but…”

He didn’t feel like finishing his sentence. There was just such a difference in the finality of relationships between humans and griffons. Back when he was walking on two legs, he’d have been able to get to know someone and just call it quits if it didn’t work out. But now…

He was there when Camille and Vadim made some interpretations on the notes the Equestrians had given them. And judging by what they told, both medics thought it was highly likely griffons bonded on a chemical level between mates, and that was without accounting for what magic may do.

Tales told of widowed griffons withering away from depression in the best of cases. All symptoms described in the data they had made it look like separation was as bad to mated griffons as cutting off longstanding drug users from their supply, albeit with no hope of ever curing the withdrawal.

It scared him. To have, accidentally, tied himself to someone for the rest of his life without even noticing, thinking he was risk-free because he knew better.

And even then, he could feel the primal instincts in the back of his mind clamoring for their missing half. He could just about imagine her down to the most minutes details, from her scent to the color of her eyes.

Yellow orange, like the amber they sold at stalls in Gdansk...

“I think I seriously fucked up Vadim…”

“It’s not all bad, you’ll see.” The other griffon comforted him with a pat on his back. “Anyway, if that helps, you moving around didn’t make your wounds any worse. Just lemme get a wheelchair and we’ll get you back to your cabin.”

With that the Ukrainian opened the doors of the ambulance and made to leave.

“Vadim?”

The grey falcon griffon paused halfway through the doors.

“Is it only griffons that do that? The pair bonding I mean.”

“Minotaurs do it too, I think… but we’re the only ones who got it that bad. As for ponies and hippogriffs, they herd, so their bonds aren’t exclusive like ours.”

Saying that, the Ukrainian hopped off the ambulance, his quadruped form disappearing behind a stowed ‘mog, leaving Boris to mull over the consequences of his… accidental bonding.

“Moment of truth, uh?” Raimund said when the lift reached the car deck and its doors slid aside.

She was the first out of the ship, the short pink mare followed by Dilip and Skinner a few steps behind. None of the three looked particularly confident as to what was about to happen when they stepped off Amandine’s ramp and onto the quays.

“Can’t say I expected we’d be able to avoid it, but still…” Dilip sighed. “You all still in on the Switzerland clause?”

“Aye.” Skinner nodded. “Don’t meddle in their affairs, teach ‘em the basics and stay neutral. By the way, did you have to take… that?” The hedgefog asked, pointing a digit at the sword hanging off Dilip’s belt, right next to his revolver holster.

The Congo Sword. They had made a stop at the armory to grab it, the ornate weapon still radiating evil magic, the gem embedded in its pommel glowing menacingly.

“First impressions are important, Skinner.” Dilip tapped the sword. “And I don’t want them to think we’re defenseless.”

“But it...”

“I’m aware.” The Indian drawled. “It feels evil, but I know a bit of fencing and I’d wager it can do more than just cut flesh. Let’s hope I don’t have to find out what exactly.”

The trio lapsed into silence whilst they crossed the rest of the way from the quays to the checkpoint. A large swathe of open terrain separated them from the access point, weed-riddled and cracked concrete that had its monotony only broken up by piles of parts and metal sailors had brought out in preparation for the repairs.

Naturally, they had taken the time to shelter them under tarps. Last thing they wanted was for the parts they’d taken the time to salvage to rust away because of the rain. And wasn’t that a frequent thing in Ireland.

They passed a lorry laden with rolls of steel on the way to the checkpoint, raw materials for the engine and generator parts they wanted to manufacture. It headed for the other side of the graving dock, where a large hangar awaited with the machining tools inside. If they squinted they could already see a significant crowd of sailors gathered there, working, but that was not their goal at the moment.

Ahead loomed the checkpoint, installed in the former offices of Harland and Wolff. Much like they had done in Copenhagen, a machine gun nest with a pair of .50 cal overlooked the entrance from the rooftop, dividing the guards in a group behind the gates and another behind the guns. Without counting the sailors inside watching the CCTV and those outside patrolling the fence, of course.

Dilip scowled when he spotted the IRA dragons idly waiting in front of the gates. They didn’t appear outwardly hostile, but they were armed, something that obviously made the sailors on post twitchy. Heavily armed too: the leader was carrying an anti-material rifle slung over his shoulder and his two ‘escorts’ were brandishing old Armalites AR-18 the likes of which hadn’t been seen since the end of the troubles.

Of the three Captains, Dilip was the only one currently armed. Then again, he was pretty sure Raimund had learned a shield spell, and Skinner could always switch to fog form.

Save for his species’ ability to dig –which he had yet to try-, he had no such trick he could possibly pull off. Hence the .38 revolver on his hip.

That being said, he had serious doubts about his weapon’s ability to cause real harm to even a teenage dragon.

The trio came to a halt a short distance away from the gates, carefully gauging the Irish dragons on the other side. The lead dragon’s yellow eyes brightened upon seeing them, and he took it as his cue to come closer, arms spread wisely.

“Well well, and here I thought you’d just pass someone a radio to have a chat with good ol’ me.” He cheerfully began with a laugh. “Yet here ye’ are in person. Boy am I flattered!”

Dilip only gave him an unimpressed look, twisting his tongue in his maw as he thought how to go about it. He put a paw on his hip. Not on his weapons’ side though, he wasn’t crazy.

“You know, considering how far the nearest neighbor seems to be, I’m surprised my guys met them first instead of you.” Dilip pointed out.

“Ain’t us bein’ rude, typically it be the newest arrival that goes ‘round greetin’ the locals.” The dragon replied. “Oh, but mind my manners. The name’s Finnegan, proud leader o’ Belfast City Hall.” He introduced himself with a mock bow before waving at the two other dragons. “And my two friends here are the Callaghan twins. Don’t mind the guns, they’re more skilled with guitars anyway, but them monsters have no taste for good music I’m afraid.”

The Diamond Dog threw the two shorter dragons a glance. Now that he got a good look, they were identical, down to the clothing they wore. They had iridescent green scales that took on a slight blue hue when the light hit them at an angle, paired with bronze-colored spikes and horns. They also didn’t carry themselves like soldiers, unlike Finnegan whose posture was, for all intents and purposes, predatory.

“I’m terribly sorry if our behavior came across as rude then. Our ships are currently damaged and we’re more concerned about fixing them than making pep talk with locals, no offense intended. My name’s Captain Prateek if I may add, of Amandine.” Dilip said. “And these here are Captain Gerig, of Rhine Forest, and Captain Skinner, of Fugro Symphony which my ship unfortunately collided with off the coast of Scotland.”

“That explains what you’re doing here then… but how come your guys went all the way to Carrickfergus then?” He frowned.

“We need Kilroot to power up the graving dock.” Skinner explained. “And I’m sorry if we told our guys to avoid contact, but your organization does have an… ahem, explosive reputation.”

“We have our reasons.” Finnegan replied with a glare. “Now, what were you lot doing with Codsworth yesterday? Don’t think we didn’t see the truck pass by.”

“Medical assistance, simple as that.” Dilip replied without faltering. “They had a casualty, so we sent a doctor treat it. Nothing wrong with that as far as I know.”

“Of course the casualty is something you should know, since it’s your fault he got hurt in the first place.” Skinner glared at Finnegan through the fence, the Scot crossing his arms with a huff.

Dilip glanced back in alarm at the Hedgefog, but the damage was done. Finnegan strode over to the gate with a fierce look in his yellow eyes, smoke and embers spilling out of his maw.

“Our fault? Our fault?! Well ain’t that fucking rich!”He bellowed. “I let that wannabe RUC jackass reach out to you first and somehow he finds a way to twist his own fuckup against me!” He roared out in outrage. “I swear that motherfucker only transferred to the PSNI so he could whack all the paddies he wanted! Did he even bother telling you who killed the manticore? Me! With this gun!” He yelled as he brandished his anti-material rifle.

Despite the outburst occurring right in front of him, Dilip managed to keep his cool, even with his wilder ‘dog side’ clamoring from within the confines of his mind like an angered hound. Now was not the time to release the hounds. Putting a paw on Skinner’s shoulder, he addressed Fugro’s Captain a look telling him to stand down before turning towards the literally fuming dragon.

“I take it we’ve got a case of conflicting testimonies.”

“No shite!” Finnegan growled. “Not only did they come demanding we hand over our guns to them, these idiots also led a monster to our main base. And now, after I stepped out to kill it and bail them out from the shitfest they stuck themselves in, I’m supposedly the one to blame?” He scoffed.

“That’s interesting.” Dilip mused. “Codsworth said you set the manticore on them when they asked for means to defend themselves. That’s how my subordinate said he phrased it at least; I haven’t personally met the guy.”

“Fat load of bullshit right there. He asked we hand him all the guns because that incompetent oaf doesn’t even know how to access his own station’s armory.”

“He doesn’t?” Dilip quirked his head in surprise.

“Not at all. All the police guns are still sitting nicely in their armory, but I bet he doesn’t have the balls to tell his followers that. Instead he pretended we stole them.”

Tempting as it was to take the dragon at face value, Dilip just… wasn’t too sure. In all likelihood the two factions each had their own version of the incident and both might actually be lying.

He just didn’t want to get involved.

“Okay, either way, it’s not our war.” The Indian said. “We’re only here to fix our ships, not to decide whether or not the British should leave Ireland…”

Not that he didn’t have an opinion. He was Indian; it would be hypocritical from him to say the Irish couldn’t have their island to themselves. And he would have been damn outraged if the Brits had kept a part of the subcontinent after all they did to gain independence. That made him very tempted to believe Finnegan at face value.

But opinion aside, it wasn’t in his rights to decide anything about the Irish-English conflict. On the other paw, there were things he could do for either group.

“… So we won’t intervene in helping either of your two factions in taking over. But, we will assist you in setting up your colony. The same goes for Codsworth’s group. Our fleet holds a fair number of skilled sailors with technical skills we can put to use, so we’re willing to help with stuff ranging from flying lessons to setting up fresh water sources, fortifications, and even biology lessons on the species you and your guys may have turned into.”

“Fair enuff’.” Finnegan growled. “But why? Sounds very generous from ye’. There a catch I should know of?”

“In a fashion.” Raimund spoke up before Dilip. “What we care about is that trade routes and industries get restarted, not how colonies are governed. If we can help either your colony or the one in Carrickfergus get started, then we’ll be willing to trade with you in the future for some of the stuff you’d be able to produce.”

“Ships need parts, and there sure are a lot of workshops around here.” Dilip added.

“And you’d bring?” Finnegan asked.

“Anything you may ask for. We can retrieve cargo from anywhere in the world, fuel for generators, tools, medicine, we can even set you up with colonies we find in the future so you may trade with them.”

“Fat chance communicating without internet.” The green dragon pointed out. “Phone lines are out too.”

“We have a satellite network, and are currently in the process of setting up communications relays. Have something you need? Call us and we’ll see where we can salvage that. Machine broke and you need advice? You can call us too. I think we’ll set up the relay on Cave Hill, but we can give you a couple sat phones too.”

Finnegan raised a clawed hand to halt the German filly momentarily before turning to his two escorts. The three huddled together to exchange a few words before he came back to them.

“You caught our interest. We’ll look into what we can offer. Will you want the dock to… remain operational, I guess?”

“Of course.” Raimund nodded.

“Then I’ll go tell the rest about this. I’ll make you know when we got an answer.” He said, turning around to leave.

“Last reminder: we’ll do stuff for you, but we will help the Brits in Carrickfergus as well. We won’t give them weapons, but we’ll make sure they won’t be wiped away by monsters.” Dilip added.

Finnegan opened his maw as if to say something before closing it and shaking his head. He motioned with his wing for his two companions to follow before the three IRA dragons walked away, back towards downtown Belfast.

They watched them leave, Raimund turning her head towards Dilip a minute after the Provos disappeared behind a corner.

“You sure it was wise to tell them that?”

“I felt they needed to be reminded of that. And… I watched the charts, there is a quay in Carrickfergus for colliers and tankers, near the power plant.”

“Trade with the Brits for fuel?” She guessed.

“Fuel with the Brits, and the Irish stay here making parts and maintaining the dock. They’d need each other to run properly, so maybe that could lead to a status-quo.”

“Or we could come back months later and find one group exterminated the other. You thought about that?” Skinner told.

“I don’t think they would actually kill them. The IRA was never big on killing civvies.” The Diamond Dog shrugged before starting the walk back to Amandine.

Codsworth was probably fair game tho’.

Still, there were two things he had learned from observations alone:

The IRA folks weren’t trained to fly.

Finnegan was almost certainly an actual Provo and not just a nostalgic. Chances were, he may even have been part of the South Armagh sniper team, what with the anti-material rifle. Dilip was no fool, he knew what happened during the Troubles.

Later that day, Aleksei found herself running through the last checklists in Kilroot, her talons wrapped around her walkie-talkie.

“Alright, everyone sound off. Over.” She called

“Auxiliary generators… ready at your command, over.” Thanasis said.

“Conveyors cleared of any obstructions and coal bunkers open. Over.” Scarface followed quickly after.

“Boiler valves set up, no pressure and ready for action.” Radiant piped in as well.

There was a pause.

“Boiler room, what did we say about radio procedure? Over.” She sighed tiredly.

“Oh right…” She heard the Pegasus chuckle awkwardly. “… Over.” He finally said.

‘bout damn time.

“Turbines coupled and transformers in the green.” Johann said at last. “Start procedure whenever you want. Over.”

Alrighty then.

The Latvian hippogriff swiveled in her chair inside the control room, eyes glancing over the still dark screens in front of her, except for one. They had the plant running on emergency power for the startup procedure, which only allowed a limited amount of remote control.

They were about to change that.

At her order, they activated the auxiliary power, a set of small diesel generators they had inspected a couple hours prior. The little things couldn’t feed any power into the electric grid, but they provided enough power to run the plant’s systems for a while to let the boiler heat up.

The moment the generators started running, the control room lit up like a Christmas tree, the control systems finally being allotted the power they needed. This was her cue to start checking all the sensors she could for anything that may have gone wrong… which, she joyfully noted with very bird-like trill, was nothing. Kilroot was in pristine state and ready to reboot.

Following her orders, Scarface turned on the conveyor belts which slowly began the process of feeding fuel to the boiler, all the coal chunks visible on CCTV as the belt slowly carried them all the way from the bunkers to the burner just below the chimney.

It took a couple hours of careful monitoring and fiddling with the feed rate for the whole system to heat up, but they eventually got it to produce enough steam to turn the turbines and finally release electricity into the regional grid.

“Good job everyone, let’s switch the plant to auto-control and then we can get busy with the substations. Out.” She finally concluded over the radio before flipping a switch on a control panel.

It wasn’t fully automatic, but the system was connected to a couple pagers that would warn them if anything went wrong. They just didn’t have enough manpower to permanently set up watch at the power plant.

Her job done, Aleksei closed the control room and left for the parking. All that electricity wouldn’t do any good if they didn’t direct it towards the repair yard, and there were a couple substations they’d have to go through in order to achieve that.

Incidentally, their little stunt also brought electricity back to both colonies around the bay. At the rate the plant was burning it with reduced output, the coal bunkers might even last a little while.

Author's Notes:

Alright, if any of you is curious about what's lying under the hood of a docking procedure in the physics department, here's a link to MarineInsight's article on the subject:
https://www.marineinsight.com/naval-architecture/dry-docking-ships-understanding-stability-docking-plan/

It's mostly about stability, which, to be frank, I've never been too fond of. I've never had to dig up my old copy of Ship Stability for OOW ever since I got my STCW's and frankly I'd rather it stays in my archives. Calculations like that are done with computers nowadays, so as long as the LOADMASTER computer is set up correctly, you don't ever do anything on paper.

Most loadmasters I've come across weren't connected to sensors though, so readings still have to be taken and inputted manually. Like draft and ullage. Exception made for tankers with UTI sensors and tank radars, where the sensors can be linked to the computer.

In most cases, stability issues are handled by the Chief Mate, since he's responsible for cargo operations.