Rhodes’ return to the waking world was rough.

And by rough he meant being slapped in the face by a tiny equine wearing the Diving Officer’s uniform.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP RHODES!” The tiny equine yelled in his face when it saw him blink owlishly, wondering where it had found his superior’s bomber jacket. The one with his name and the letters ‘SSGN-729’ written on the back.

And why did it sound exactly like him?
“Oww…” He groaned, feeling a trickle of blood run down the side of his face. “Whu-what? Sir, what’s going on?”

And what happened to his voice? Why did it sound so high-pitched?
“We fuckin’ crashed that’s wha’.” The equine said, which he now could reasonably assume was Lieutenant Gardner.

Rhodes looked around, only then realizing the chaos around the compartment. Alarms were blaring from nearly every console that was in working order around the submarine’s control room, with the rest showing damaged displays whose screens were either outright dark or flickering in a jumbled mess because the impact damaged the hardware. The backup lights were on, casting a red light on them, the scene made all the more eerie by the fact the boat was at an angle, heeled backwards and to the starboard side, which would explain why he was pushed against the side of his seat that was just behind USS Georgia’s helm, nothing more than a little black plastic steering wheel.

His seat that looked disturbingly big now, as if he had shrunk.

He lifted his hand to wipe off some of the blood that was trickling its way into his eye.

His hand that was now a hoof. He blinked.
“Bit slow on the uptake there Rhodes.” Lt. Gardner quipped.

His head twisted to the opposite side, towards the planesman’s station – unlike the helm, that station controlled vertical movement of the sub-. Benson was still there, unconscious and apparently now a white pony with two bulges on his back visible through his coveralls. Rhodes caught a glimpse of his own reflection in the aviators the guy kept in his breast pocket.

Ah, so there’s the problem. He’d been turned into a little pony. With blue fur. And he was also a mare.
“Sir, can you hit me again? Like really hard, so I don’t wake up to see this shitfest?” She finally said after working her jaw a few times.
“Shut yer trap and man the Hell up, I need you right now. Can’t work the controls with these damn hooves.” Gardner barked.

She quirked an eyebrow at the other pony, wondering if it even dawned on him she didn’t have hands anymore either.
“So what happened?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Sir, I just woke up to the sub looking like a Walmart after Black Friday, I probably have a concussion, and I’m a horse. With all due respect, I have no idea whatever the fuck is going on.” She said, standing up in her seat.

And immediately sat back down when she felt blood rush away from her head and her vision went faint. Bad idea. Stay in your seat. Most likely a concussion from headbutting the steering column.
“By the way, where’s Martinez?”
“Unconscious, behind the periscope.”
“Horse?”
“Eeyup.” Gardner slowly nodded. “So remember what we were doing yet?”
“I… oh shit.” Her eyes went wide.

In essence it was pretty simple: they had been traveling west, headed back to the naval base in Kings Bay after spending quite a bit of time patrolling the North Atlantic and just acting as a deterrent.

Simple. A return to base was something everyone on the crew waited for like it was an early Christmas.

And they’d been cruising below the surface, at about three hundred feet of depth. Again: simple.

Now there was the underwater topography 101 lesson: the continental shelf. Most of the ocean far off the coast was beyond a thousand meters deep, so the barren abyssal plains were no threat to a submarine (mostly, ask USS San Francisco how that went for them), much less an Ohio-class like Georgia (insofar that they kept away from sea mountains). However, that depth decreased abruptly at a certain distance off the shore where the abyssal plains rose up in a sheer cliff up until the depth stabilized in a ‘shelf’ of sorts, at a relatively shallow depth.

So they were supposed to simply decrease their dive depth and avoid the ‘cliff’, that being what they usually called the continental slope.
“How deep are we, sir?”
“575 feet, according to the depth gauge.” Gardner said.

Rhodes’ memory slowly pieced itself together, giving her a picture of what had happened. Where they should have risen to the right depth to avoid the cliff, the transformed Benson had actually panicked and pushed the planes down. The planes were the sole thing beside ballast control that could alter their depth, and at speed it could do its work far quicker than changes in buoyancy.

Instead of rising above the waves to greet American shores, USS Georgia had actually done a nose-dive and face-planted straight into the seabed at cruise speed.

They’d just grounded a fucking nuclear submarine.

The fleet was long past Ireland and already well into their journey through the Atlantic by the time Bart emerged out on the main deck to catch a breath of fresh air. It had only taken a couple hours after hitting the Atlantic proper and encountering their first ocean-borne swells that the Belgian unicorn recalled there was a reason why he’d never taken to seafaring prior to the Event.

Sure, he wasn’t outright spilling his guts all over the place, but the rolling was enough to put him in a perpetually queasy state that made him think he might puke the first thing he swallowed and also prevented him from getting a good night’s sleep.

Which was why he was now trotting about on the main deck. The salty breeze was an improvement over the A/C they kept on full blast inside and helped relieve the nausea. Somewhat.

Bart quickly came to the realization all sailors eventually come to as he propped himself up against the railing with his forehooves, eyes lazily sweeping the horizon:

Open seas were boring.

Really, there was nothing in sight except for water, water, and some more water for the sake of variety; a vast, empty expense of dark blue only broken up by white ripples whenever foam formed at the crest of a wave, sometimes glittering for a bit when the spray managed to reflect sunlight. Fugro and Rhine were behind them, both ships keeping a reasonable distance from each other to make sure that – as unlikely as it was during an ocean passage- they would all put themselves at risk of crashing into ships that might pop back into existence – unlikely as it was so far off the coast-.

As for Amandine herself, the ship was pretty quiet this time of the day. Glimpses of blue up on the bridge told him Alejandro (and by extension, Sri behind the helm) was on watch, their Chief Officer currently busy measuring the sun’s culmination through a sextant.

Below the bridge, the hangar bay doors were open, if only to ventilate the upper car decks for as long as the weather kept clear. That made it possible for him to see the newly added helicopter waiting in the shade of the hangar, its two pilots comfortably reclining near it on plastic chairs as they chatted.

The addition of the AW189 on the upper deck had also come with the installation of a kerosene tank near its hangar spot, along with a little shed for spare parts and basic maintenance tools, if only to spare them the need to bring it down a couple decks into the workshop after each flight.

Not a bad idea in and of itself. The only argument Bart had to raise against it was that they’d decided it was wise to put the kerosene next to the chicken coops (another recent addition). But eh, at least the tank was well clear of the greenhouse containers outside on the main deck (which incidentally put the vegetables near the ammo stowage) and Greet had argued that as long as the kerosene didn’t leak then it wouldn’t be a problem.

Suuuuure.

Speaking of which...

“Enjoying the weather?” Greet asked in Dutch as she strode up to him. The tall parrot easily towered above him.

“Can’t say I do.” He snorted. “I just really need the breeze. The smell down in the workshop and the armory doesn’t do me much good.”

“Oh really? Is it that bad?” She quirked her head as she went to rest her elbows on the railing.

“Nah… it’s more an annoyance than an actual problem. Does make me skip meals though… I mean, I know Rahul and Nguyen do a lot to make the smell of meat bearable to herbivores like me, but even with all the spices I feel like I’m just going to spill it all up if I pair seasickness with that.”

“You tried ginger yet?”

“Fuck’s an aphrodisiac going to do for my stomach?” He nickered. “I thought the nurse from Rhine was enough to sate you for now.”

“Wha- oh!” She paused for half a second before letting out a chuckle. “Yes she is, but that’s not what I meant. Ginger’s great against seasickness. You just gotta chop a slice off a gingerroot and swallow that and then you’re good for a while. It’s not the best, but if you’re not too sick to begin with that should do the trick against your nausea. By the way… get your mind out of the gutter.”

“No promises. Care to tell where I can find some?”

“Infirmary, or in the pantry if Nguyen’s feeling frisky with the menu. Vadim always keeps some stocked, but he’s busy now so just go ask Boris.”

“Catbird’s another kind of busy, lemme tell you.”

“What did I say about the gutter?” She rolled her eyes.

“Sorry Officer, no more innuendos fortoday.” He drawled before distancing himself from the railing and stretching his hooves like a cat. “Mind if I ask what’s that around your neck?”

“That?” She shoved a talon down her collar and pulled out a thin necklace.

It was a simple leather strip tied in a knot behind her neck. Judging by the subtle pattern imprinted in the material and their Chief Officer’s reputation of doing leathercrafting as a hobby, she likely got it from Alejandro. But the leather wasn’t the necklace’s selling point: that merit went to the large fang hanging from it.

“It’s a trophy.” She explained, quickly untying it and letting Bart grab it in his telekinesis. “Alej’ said the feat with the manticores was worth remembering even if the ones I killed weren’t adults, so they saved a bit for me after they were done chopping them up for alchemical stuff.”

“It looks nice.” Bart commented as he used his telekinesis to lift it closer to his muzzle, idly noting the little vine pattern someone had carved on it with a needle.

“I know right? Call me a magpie if you want but I really dig the look.” The tall parrot told him.

“Magpie? Nah...” He shook his head firmly and gave her her necklace back. “The D-Dogs and the dragons are like magpies, they go for the shiny stuff. You parrots just like garish stuff. Big difference.”

“Ornithians technically.” She pointed out to him.

“Same thing really.” Bart rolled his eyes before throwing a quick look towards the bridge. “Say, mind if I as-”

“Ten days to America. Eleven if the weather gets bad.”

“Thanks. How’d you guess?”

“It was an obvious question.” She shrugged. “So you going to get that ginger?”

“ASAP preferably. I’m fucking tired of skipping meals.” Bart nodded before walking away. “That, and I need to go see the seamstress for my service dress. See you for dinner.”

Which reminded Greet of how they had settled their agreement with Ms. Hawkins. To take her across the Atlantic, Dilip only asked her to help crewmembers get a proper wardrobe.

Granted, they had already done lots to adjust their clothing to their new body types, but unlike the Earth Pony they weren’t professionals. There was always this little bit of thread or padding that could be improved upon and that they’d forgotten about.

This was all the easier to notice with ‘fancy’ clothing like service dresses. While they may have managed to fashion something while they were in Copenhagen for Yancy’s burial, the results were… sub-par, to put it mildly. Too tight around the waist, frayed, poorly-made seams and asymmetrical fits. The results were particularly more egregious the further a sailor’s body type differed from that of a human.

It had thus fallen upon their America-bound passenger to plan out a schedule and have each crewmember visit her cabin and have their wardrobe updated.

To her credit Hawkins had a good work ethic. She’d met with Farkas upon embarking and requested they provide her with their sewing supplies and all the templates they’d already accrued for their clothing before asking them to fill in their names on a timetable and visit her one at a time. Maybe it was her special skill as a pony, or maybe she was just that good, but the Earth Pony somehow managed to go through up to four wardrobes a day without breaking a sweat, and without hands.

It really was a sight to behold, as Greet had already had the chance to witness. The Boston-born mare had been diligent in learning how to use her new body and could now thread a needle with little to no trouble and use any of her tools with surgical accuracy despite the hooves.

Frankly, Greet would have thought she was a machine was it not for Molly’s attitude. She had a habit of chatting with clients as she worked on their clothes and took their measurements with her tape. The best way she could use to describe her personality was bubbly. And the Bostonian accent sure didn’t help.

But she was nice to be around, and with Greet she’d been quite eager to learn about Ornithians’ fashion preferences, so much so that she’d even taken some notes when Greet told her about them.

The only actual problem with the mare was her seeming desire to play dress up with some of the crewmembers – as if Sandra doing that wasn’t enough already- and she’d somehow managed to convince Greet to try out the outfit she’d made for her according to her own descriptions of Ornithian fashion.

Not that it was bad looking. In fact, she almost let out a happy squawk of approval when she saw it.

It was just a bit…

Gaudy, old fashioned, kitsch, frilly. All of those things she knew were supposed to look bad yet looked so appealing to her now.

It was as if Molly had taken inspiration from Victorian-era dresses, pirate wear and Atlantic duffle coats at the same time. It came with a frilly white shirt with trim to match her feathers underneath a near-black sleeveless long coat with brass pauldrons, and a high collar to account for Ornithians’ relatively long necks. Both were designed in such a manner that they hugged her statuesque frame around the waist, the coattails flaring out below the belt in something that looked disturbingly like a skirt to Greet.

Below that, Molly had designed a pair of navy blue flared pantaloons with an integrated sash. Like the rest of the outfit, the colors were muted enough that the outfit could be used for bridge work, yet with sufficiently colorful trim to satisfy a parrot.

The outfit even came with a wide belt with straps to attach her recently acquired magic shortsword – the Amber Sword as she had dubbed it-.

Greet decided she liked it.

With the matter of the fay ladies addressed, it left them with nothing concrete to do except keep an eye on the tree and improve their dwellings in Trecesson Castle. Merlin had by then long finished setting up in his tower, and even Rockhoof finally deemed that they’d prepared enough fields to beef up their stores come winter.

Right then, the big ginger-maned stallion had just paused by the gates in the courtyard after he got back from inspecting the fields and feeding the cattle in the morning. And he still wasn’t comfortable around Earth-born cows. To be fair, what Equestrian would? He was so used to intelligent cows that seeing them behave like… animals felt utterly alien. Let alone when they just passively stayed put when he milked them.

“Rock dearest, can you bring the milk to the kitchen?” Meadow asked him as she trotted past, a small basket of rhubarb from the garden on her back and Martin following close behind. “I think I’m going to make some butter today, and maybe something else if there’s too much of it, I’ll figure it out.”

“Of course!” He nodded firmly as he tore his eyes away from Merlin’s tower and threw a look at the mare’s bare flank.

Was it already bulging or was he imagining things? Probably the latter, he was probably spotting hints of her pregnancy just because he wanted to see them.

As he ventured further inside the courtyard he spotted Emeric and Miles chatting near a pile of… random gizmos he couldn’t recognize. One of the objects in the pile looked like a cast iron stove, but there were also bits of copper, some fans, bags of charcoal and miscellaneous bits of piping.

“Bonjour.” He greeted the two military ponies in French. “Busy I see?”

“Sort of.” Emeric acknowledged, the bronze unicorn folding a set of plans he’d been reading from and tucking it in a pouch he carried under his camo poncho with his telekinesis. “We’re just trying to figure out how to improve things around here.”

“Mostly he, I never was one for the technical stuff.” Miles pointed out. “He makes the plans, I just get the stuff.”

“Well...” Rock swept his eyes over the parts. “Don’t count on me or Meadow to help with that. Technology really isn’t our forte. What is it anyway?”

“A Frankenstein-style blend of a coal boiler and a steam turbine that’s what.” Emeric proudly stated as he planted a hoof on the ‘stove’.

“Gesundheit.”Rockhoof said. “Explanation for the ancient pony that I am?”

“Oh it’s not that complicated really. Merlin gets it. Explained it all in one go as he was giving me magic lessons.” Emeric shrugged.

“Merlin is a scholar with a knack for new things. I’m not.”

“True that...” He acknowledged. “In short: this here is the simplest way I could think of for us to get running water, hot water and electricity without relying on an external grid or anything too high tech. Tech wise it’s at least seventy years old, and it shouldn’t pose too much trouble maintaining it either. I mean, I made it all so it could run on charcoal, so it’s not like we’d even rely on oil for power. I know where to make some.”

“Where then?”

“Hold on...” Emeric raised a hoof before he pulled out another piece of paper, unfolding it to reveal a chart of Broceliande which he laid out on the ground. “There we go… see this little village east of the castle?”

Rockhoof examined the map, following the French unicorn’s hoof to a small strip of a village along a river in the middle of the woods.

“There’s charcoal there?”

“Better.” Emeric smiled. “This village used to be called ‘The Forges’, and the locals had made it into a historical reenactment center. You got old-school forges there, charcoal kilns, any tool you may need plus the scrap you might need to make stuff.”

“High tech stuff?”

“No high tech stuff, I promise.”Emeric made a cutting gesture with his hoof. “That’s the good thing with the region: we had so much medieval touristy attractions going on that you’ll find a lot of places where they recreated ancient tech. Like the farm outside the castle for instance. Stuff that’s a lot more durable than digital-era technology, stuff you should know how to use already.”

“Then I guess we’ll have to mount an expedition in that direction later this week. There any road between us and The Forges?”

“Technically yes but...” He trailed off for a second before folding up his map. “Miles?”

“Rockhoof, I don’t think the roads are gonna last much longer at the rate the forest is expanding.” The pegasus said, taking it as her cue to speak up. “We already had enough trouble getting to Vivian’s lake the other day with all the overgrowth, so I don’t think we’ll have the luxury of a road that’s good enough to pass carts through. Hiking level paths at best, game trails at worst.”

“That I can help with.” Merlin suddenly joined in, teleporting right in the middle of their group in his equine form.

Miles jumped up two meters in the air with a ‘eep’ from the surprise before coming back down in a glide. She had yet to practice enough that she could stay in the air for more than a couple seconds.

Considering her only reliable way to train was by herself and jumping off the battlements down in the moat, actual flight was going to take a while.

“And how can you help?” She asked, throwing him a mildly-annoyed glare after making sure her heart was still beating.

To that the mage replied by igniting his horn. There was a slamming noise up above them as the door to his tower abruptly opened and a little stone came flying at them. It was a small carved disk, about the size of a CD, covered in glowing runes and sigils.

“I made this. I’m too busy to come along this time unfortunately, but this stone will teleport you back inside my tower when you use it.”He told them.

“That should make it easier to bring the loot back. Great.” Rockhoof stroked his beard with the tip of a hoof. “Now if you don’t mind I need to get this milk to the kitchen.” He concluded before jerking his head towards the bucket he’d set down behind him. “Best of luck with the assembling. We’ll probably deal with the Forges tomorrow, drop by whenever you’re ready to go.”

“I will.” Emeric smiled.

With that the big Earth Pony left them to their own devices, already overhearing Emeric start a conversation with Starswirl about unicorn magic. Truth to be told, he doubted Emeric would ever become a particularly powerful mage.

He may only be an Earth Pony, but Rock had plenty of years of experience gauging ponies under his belt, and he had seen Emeric’s cutie mark. It was a simple bush with the vague silhouette of a pony overlaid above it. Paired with a military pony, he wouldn’t be surprised if he turned out to be some kind of camouflage expert.

A very useful skill in the military (in fact he was pretty sure the Equestrian army actively sought such Cutie Marks for their recon divisions), but not the kind of stuff genuine mages the likes of Starswirl were molded from.

On the way to the kitchen he passed the two latest additions to the colony. One was a doe called Sandrine, and the other was a unicorn, a former barman with a keg cutie mark going by the name of Lionel. So far they’d spent the last few days since their arrival getting settled in one of the castle’s bedrooms and getting acquainted to their new forms.

Unlike the two military who could at least serve as guards, these two were blank slates. It had thus fallen upon him to find out exactly how they could make themselves useful.

If he was ready to declare himself as Lord of Trecesson in front of none other than Morgane La Fay, then he’d make sure he was worthy of the mantle.

Lionel he wasn’t really worried about. The stallion sounded very willing to do his part of the work so it was just a matter of teaching the urbanite how things worked in farming. He’d already spent a morning or two teaching him how to use all the tools they kept stored in the barn, and he’d even seen him reading some practical books in the castle’s library.

Yes, turns out they had one. Not a big one, but it made for a nice study and held a respectable collection of hands-on manuals and guides on flora and fauna. Maybe because the former castellan was an outdoorsman or even just a hunter. Regardless of why, the collection was enough to sate Lionel’s curiosity and Rock had seen him take some notebooks about brewing and beekeeping to his chambers.

The doe however…

Rockhoof frowned as he entered the kitchen, thinking about her. Unlike Lionel, she was lazy. Very much so. He and Meadow had already asked her a couple times to help around, to little effect. She would just laze around in her and Lionel’s shared bedroom, and it was only because the latter had promised he’d try to convince her that the stallion hadn’t stepped in yet.

And his patience was running thin. He wasn’t from cities like Canterlot where ponies lived the easy life, no. He was a pony from the North, where life depended on every member of the herd doing their part. Lazy ponies were a big no-no.

And he didn’t want any such pony living off the castle’s pantry. Sandrine would have one more day to get off her rump, and if she didn’t, well…

Rockhoof seriously contemplated tossing her in the moat for motivational purposes.

Focused as he was on that train of thought he didn’t see Meadowbrook when the shorter mare reached up to his muzzle and planted a quick peck on his lips.

“I’m sorry?” He looked down at her.

“Oh it’s nothing. Just drop the milk by the fire. You looked worried.”

“Not worried, just a bit thoughtful.” He told her.

“The newcomers?”

“Just the doe.” He sighed. “I don’t know what to-”

“What to doe with her?” Meadow chirped.

“Oh deer...” He rolled his eyes. “Must you make this stallion suffer like this?”

“Shush you, I’m just trying to cheer you up since you’re so solemn.” She punched him lightly on the shoulder. “And don’t you worry, we’ll get her to work whether she wants to or not. No lazy city folks will be accepted in this castle, right?”

“Yeah, none of that.” He nodded, pulling her towards him with one hoof and breathing in her scent. “How’s it working out on your end?”

“Doing great, what else?” She smiled before motioning towards where Martin was playing outside in the courtyard. “Lil’ fawn over here is a great help when I go foragi-”

“Which you shouldn’t be doing with the pregnancy.”

“Learn to properly collect ingredients, and then we’ll talk. Plus Martin’s marked by the White Stag, I don’t think there’s anything too bad that could happen to him around here.”

“That’s what you think. I just think some are just laying too much burden on that kid. Why did it even mark him? Because it wants him to be the lord of these woods? He’s a bucking fawn for Faust’s sake, not a fully-grown buck like, I dunno, Lord Bramble!” He ranted. “Sorry.”

“It’s gotta come out at some point eventually.” She gave him a small smile.

“Back to you...” He shook his head. “So… second try: how’s it going?”

“I decided where to finally set up my lab proper.” She said. “So… once Starswirl is done magicking me some gear, I’ll finally be able to move the potion-making away from the kitchens.”

“Where to then?”

“There’s a free room down below, between the wine cellar and the pantry.”

“Isn’t it a bit cold down below?”

“Precisely.” She jabbed a hoof in his chest, a confident smile on her muzzle. “Some of my ingredients need to be kept cold, and there’s some good ventilation down there. I’ll give that to you, it’s gonna be cold in winters, and the humidity from the moat doesn’t help, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get around here to practice my alchemy.”

And she wouldn’t be making potions with kitchen utensils anymore. That was always a mess, cleaning them up so she didn’t accidentally infect food with her potions.

El Tajin.

An ancient pre-Columbian city in the state of Veracruz, Mexico. Its sprawling ruins the last remains of a long dead civilization that had already been abandoned for centuries by the time European explorers first made landfall. Great gray pyramids rose up from the jungle floor which was a muddy mess from the constant rain that had been pelting the area for more than a week and had already swallowed two of Night’s ponies when they fell off the boardwalks they had erected between the pyramids. Their struggles only served to make them sink in the muck faster.

Their bodies floated to the surface the next day.

They were hard at work attempting to make something out of the place, though it really felt like nature was doing everything it could to stop them from settling there. The weather was one thing, but they also had to fight off plants that grew disturbingly fast and seemed like they were about to invade their constructions every other day if she didn’t actively order somepony to chop off all the vines before they destroyed the boardwalks.

At least that made wood easy to come by, as was food. And they even had the fauna throwing itself at them in an attempt to dislodge the demonic cultists from the ruined city.

Hail Scylla for the extra food. Night wasn’t one of these lazy Equestrians who shunned meat out of principles. In fact the prospect of eating the ocelot that had attacked her in the morning made the batpony salivate. Bloody thing deserved it after the scratch its claws had made on her armor’s breastplate.

Frankly, the first few days she’d spent in Mexico had made Night very tempted to just take a recall stone back to the Hub and tell Mage to buck off with his plan of setting up a new base, but that was only before she and her subordinates actually located the ruined city.

Oh, what an opportunity it was.

Convergence points in ley lines had always been powerful locations to syphon magic off of, and this one was no exception. Each and every stone pyramid in the ruins was like a fountain of magic begging to be tapped, and Night was all too happy to comply.

She came to a halt in front of one of those structures, a large tiered pyramid with niches built in its sides all the way up to the summit.

Now if she were an archaeologist, she would assume it was some kind of a temple to a blood god or some stuff because it was roiling with that kind of magic, feeling like some invisible, malicious tendrils that tried to grab onto her and pull her towards the gate set in a stone crucible on the summit. Dark red ‘veins’ ran all the way from that giant bowl down the sides of the pyramid before disappearing under the muck, a pattern which repeated itself in slightly different patterns on nearly every pyramid found in the ruins.

However, that was useless now. She smiled internally. One of the first things they’d done after setting up the boardwalks was putting a stopper on those gates to ‘tap’ the magic they were absorbing from the ley lines. Whatever intelligences that were on the other side of those gates thrashed in protest the moment they finished their sealing circles, radiating righteous anger and fury at them, to no avail.

The magic was theirs now, slowly being syphoned towards the crystal banks they used to store power inside the clusters of buildings they’d put on stilts between the ruins.

The Four Horses’ camp in the ruins was turning into a tentacular mess. Amidst all of the boardwalks that snaked their way between the pyramids they’d also erected a couple wider platforms onto which they could build what they needed. Most of it was still just tents, with the odd ramshackle wooden building like the one they used to put their crystal banks in, and the room with their main summoning circle.

In short: they still had a lot of work ahead of them.

“Boss?” A voice asked behind her.

Sirius. Her lieutenant.

“Something the matter?” She asked, turning around to face the muscular gargoyle who had taken to wearing an oilcloth parka to ward off the rain.

“Not really. Just the daily report.” He announced.

“I’m waiting.” She told.

“Very well...” He coughed once. “Building is proceeding as planned with the obvious delays because of… local disturbances. That being said, we already shipped a set of fully loaded crystals back to the hub. Local magic’s making some good yields”

“Already?” She quirked an eyebrow in surprise, one black crystal-encased wing reaching out to cup her chin.

“Yes, turns out the magic yield of this place is even higher than expected.” Sirius explained with a satisfied nod. “Mage was pleased, even commended the ponies on delivery duty for a job well done.”

“Did he now?”

“By his standards of course.” Sirius shrugged. “You know him better than I do, it’s not like he’s ever particularly effusive about it.”

“Got it then. So he just nodded.”

“Pretty much, yeah. Now about the breeding facility...”

“We still have contact with the one on Equus?”

“Mage said the bond between the two planets would last a couple weeks more at least, I think. We’ve already ‘ported all live monsters at random around the planet so the pens are empty. That leaves eggs and a couple breeding pairs to make more. They’re ready to ship as soon as we have a holding facility over here. And… Night?”

“Yes?”

“Haze and Might were ready to make their own requisitions for those, so I went ahead and filled it in for you before they could take all the good stuff for their own facilities. We won’t have any of the stuff to make intelligence-suppressing runes for the monsters – so sea serpents and chimeras are out of the way-, but I got all the components for control and tracking runes, plus a buckton of chupacabra eggs.”

“Chupacabras? Is that all you could get?!” She raised her voice and rounded up on him, jabbing a hoof against his chest.

“No, far from it!” The gargoyle quickly raised his hands in a placating manner. “It’s just... Might and Haze were busy securing the good stuff for themselves and I can’t overturn their requisition orders. Had to secure something so we’d have monsters on hand. And what’s wrong with chupacabras anyway? We can make hundreds of them in weeks.”

“They’re lightweights, that’s the problem.” Night sighed and rubbed a hoof against her muzzle. “Is everything already taken? Like… can you secure some heavyweights? Cave trolls? Manticores? Hydras?”

“Cave trolls are all taken, Might wanted them for Africa. But I think I saw like half-a-dozen hydra eggs in a shed.”

“Then get to that teleporter and secure them before the others get them. We won’t get anything done if we’re entirely reliant on chupacabras.”

“Aight boss, will do.” Sirius nodded vigorously, pulling out a small notebook and jotting down the orders.

The two of them fell into silence for a moment, listening to the rumbling skies above them and all the noises that came from the jungle sbeyond the ruins. The only light at the moment was coming from the coupleof torches and fires their subordinates had managed to make underneath a large tent made from some ‘plastic’ tarp they’d salvaged in nearby abandoned settlements. The tarp was arranged in a roof of sorts, with the walls made from wooden crates containing items Sirius had let them loot freely.

Letting all these mangy bandits and smugglers loot was important, too. They needed to let them have the riches and spoils they wanted to maintain morale. After all, if they, among the higher ranks could profit from Scylla’s power boosts, the lower ranks also needed to get something out of the deal lest they throw a mutiny.

And in Night’s mind, having an entire planet to loot at their own leisure was as good a deal as they’d ever get.

Dilip’s work was interrupted by a knock on his door, spurring him to set down his cup of tea and put his spreadsheets on hold for a moment.

He was just perusing a tutorial over V-Lookup anyway. Damn witchcraft...

“It’s open!” The dog called out in a bark.

The door opened quickly, and in walked Artyom. That in itself wasn’t much of a surprise. What was, was the way the blue dragon had chosen to dress: no coveralls, but a clean shirt, tie and trousers combo, with his scales polished to a perfect jewel-like sheen.

“Good afternoon.” The Indian greeted him with a nod before waving his paw over to the seat in front of his desk. “How are things going?”

“Good afternoon, Captain.” Artyom greeted back before taking a seat. “Ship’s in great shape, not much maintenance to do so soon after a tour in dry-dock, so not much work to do except for drills. Now...”

It was at that moment that the Captain finally noticed the union pin the dragon had attached to his collar.

“I take it you’re here as the union rep and not as the bosun?”

“That is correct.” The Russian nodded. “As you know, it is my duty to represent the ratings of this crew and ensure their well-being and interests are accounted for in your decisions.”

“Which I do.” Dilip said, leaning back in his chair slightly. “So I’m surprised you’d come here about it. I don’t think I’ve done anything as of late that’d impact morale that negatively.”

“You haven’t. I’m here to address the issue of wages.”

“Wages? Artyom, we’re cut off from the charterer, probably forever. Money isn’t even worth anything anymore, so maybe I could distribute some paper slips around, but they wouldn’t be worth much. I don’t even earn anything myself. And I’m not giving anyone HPI credits either. These are exclusively for buying parts.”

“I’m aware, Captain.” He replied slowly. “It’s not really about money, but giving the crew something to work for. I don’t criticize your leadership, I’m just saying a sailor needs to work for something of his own, to have a vetted interest in this ship.”

“And you just so happened to have an idea about that.”

“I do.” The dragon nodded. “Loot concessions.”

“You’re already free to take what you want – within reasons- when we’re in port you know.” Dilip quirked an eyebrow at him.

“That’s not really what I meant. I think all sailors should have access to some cargo capacity to store belongings they acquire during our voyages, at least until civilization gains enough of a foothold that some kind of currency may be established for wages.”

“And you really think this will help?” He inquired, not sounding too convinced.

“I do. Gathering loot and storing it on board as profits from our voyages is the closest thing we can offer them to wages. Having belongings invested in the ship will also make them doubly more motivated to keep her safe and sound. I’d also suggest giving more leniency for cabin modifications, but the cargo space for loot is what it’s really about. So what do you think, sir?”

Dilip stared thoughtfully at the dragon on the other side of his desk for a few moments, twirling a pencil between his digits.

“It’s an idea worth considering, I’ll give you that.” He finally said, standing up and reaching for his teacup. “You’re right about a need for wages, but I’ll have to think about how much room I should allot sailors for their, ahem...”

“Loot sir.” Artyom filled in.

“Yes, loot. I’ll discuss the matter with Alejandro later. Thank you for bringing up the topic.”

“And thank you for your attention, Captain.” The blue dragon grinned widely before exiting the room.

How much space could they spare for that anyway? Alej’ was the one who did all the cargo calculations, he’d probably know that.

Author's Notes:

I know it may seem trivial when compared to ancient cursed cities and sunken nuclear subs, but the matter of wages and currency in a Post-Apocalyptic settings is still worth considering, particularly in a setting like this one where ressources are plentiful but manpower is so limited.

Even when you consider the fact that unlike the OG Ponies After People the return rate in this case is linear (unlike the skewed bell curve it's supposed to be), that would still give them at best 700.000 people worldwide by the end of the year.

Eh, on the bright side that solves all overpopulation problems and makes human life valuable again. I've been toying with the idea of a currency that's based on the value of a work hour but even that is extremely sketchy.

Barring using a work hour as the standard to base a currency on, a bartering system focused on stuff that's only available in limited quantities might work provided the supply remains limited and that everyone needs it.

Which as far as I can think of would lead to either using fuel or fresh food as currency.