Ho-Jin invited the whole recce team in the inner parts of his truck stop for a chat. Aleksei had them park the Defender inside the garage. The kirin wasn’t that bad of a guy actually, just a bit rough and wary of outsiders because of some incident involving bandits.

Getting their truck inside offered another for Aleksei to take a closer look at the fortifications. In addition to the patched-up and reinforced palisade the two kirins had erected to defend their territory, everything had been geared to use the roofs of the buildings that made up the truck stop as defensive positions that focused around the gas station that happened to be the only access left open, meant to funnel attackers where the defenses were at their thickest.

Cleverly designed as it was, she still didn’t think the defenses were quite as solid as those of the colonies in Carrickfergus and Belfast, though the utilities provided by the truck stop made up for it in their own way. Food courts, shop space, fuel tanks with the gas station, the garage, the motel for accommodation… Ho-Jin must have worked for decades to finance the whole thing.

A shame the kirins were the only inhabitants, the motel alone could have housed a couple dozen more colonists.

Ho-Jin’s grandson ducked inside the garage and pulled the gate open for them. It was a tall building made for repairing rigs, case in point with what they saw over one of the inspection pits. A black Mack sleeper cab, vintage build with all the sharp angles, chrome fenders, and a duck statue as its hood ornament that laid with its innards splayed out messily all around it. Scarface gave it an appreciative nod.

“That’s an impressive little fort you got here. Nice truck by the way.” The gargoyle commented, watching Ho-Jin emerge out of the garage’s office spaces with a beer-filled cooler, his grandson carrying a couple folding chairs behind it.

The shotgun hadn’t left his back scabbard though.

“Getting hooves hasn’t made me any worse at hands-on work, fortunately.” The kirin gruffly replied, using his telekinesis to pull out a new cigarette. “If anything the transformation cleared up all the little problems I’d accumulated over the years.

Only shame is I don’t got the time to reassemble the rig, sorry for the mess. Cigarette?” He offered.

“No thanks, got my own pack. But likewise about the transformation, helps with the age.” Scarface said. “I’m Nikola by the way, though everyone calls me Scarface as of late.”

“Uh, I wonder why...” Ho-Jin snorted, throwing a brief look at the scar on the gargoyle’s muzzle before he cracked open a can of beer.

“Pleasantries aside...” Aleksei leaned forward. “I wonder how you wound up here. We’re trying to figure out what’s going onin town.”

“The long version?”

“With beer and cigarettes to spare? We’re all ears.” She told him.

“Very well then...” Ho-Jin shuffled around a bit, sitting on his haunches in his folding chair. “From the start: we came back a couple weeks ago before the storm. I was getting Dal from school while his parents were watching the station and then, poof, gone.” He spread out his forehooves.

“What time of the day?” She prodded, getting her notebook from a cargo pouch she’d added to her flak jacket. “Just to add to our database. It didn’t occur at the same time everywhere, the uh… spreading pattern is a bit more complicated than that. More than just time zone differences I mean.”

Mostly because the Event’s wave spread out from convergence point. They had deduced that it did start at the same time (somewhat), but the further away you were from a ley line or a convergence point, the longer it took before the Event occurred for you.

Incidentally that was the one thing that led to them finding out about ley lines in the first place.

“No clue, car’s clock was broken.” Ho-Jin shrugged.

“Late evening, at least past 18.30.” His grandson Dal filled in. “That was after the extracurricular activities.”

“Well, thank you.” Aleksei threw him a smile. “That ought to fill a bit of our databanks. Now… you were saying mister Park?”

“Bleh, just stick to Ho-Jin, formalities ain’t my forte.” The kirin waved his hoof dismissively. “So we reappeared just the two of us in my car and we hit a fire hydrant. Going from hands to hooves without knowing telekinesis does that, so I heard.” He scowled.

Past that he told them they had made their way back to the truck stop on foot… hoof, to the sight of a deserted city save for roving packs of wild dogs and widespread destruction from the floods. The dogs were actually why he’d built the fence around the truck stop, the bandits only came later.

As Ho-Jin told, he was very attached to the stop, having had to earn it off the sweat of his back over the course of several decades ever since he’d emigrated from Korea as a teen. And once it was all paid off, he had passed it off to his eldest son, leaving him free to tend to the garage and work on his projects.

Having a vast cluster of buildings like that was actually fairly practical for survival, giving them fairly large stores and utilities to get by. That had been very useful when the tropical storm hit, as the kirin explained. By his assumption, it was a nasty combination of a spring tide and a nasty storm that hit the coast at the same time and brought a massive influx of water back up the river with the rainfall. Massive enough to overload all the storm basins and flood most of the city.

With most of the region as low as it was, it was no surprise the damage was so extensive. The area around the truck stop had been hit too, but was thankfully spared the worst of it due to being somewhat higher. They still had to spend quite a lot of time fixing the damage and pumping out the water, but it was nothing compared to the unmitigated disaster that had swept the old town.

The truck stop was Ho-Jin’s little piece of American Dream, a treasure he sure as hell wasn’t going to let be trashed by anything, be it floods, wild animals, or a bus’ worth of escaped convicts.

“That’s oddly specific.” Radiant remarked.

“Because it’s the truth. Dal discovered it along the ‘95 when he was exploring the area, ain’t that right boy?”

“Yes sir.” The younger kirin nodded firmly. “Blue prison bus. Probably went on an unwilling offroad trip when they reappeared. I don’t know if it’s the crash or the inmates that got the wardens, I… I didn’t have the heart to check the insides you know? Crows and broken windows, figure the rest. Sorry about that.”

“Don’t trouble yourself with it, boy.” Ho-Jin reassured. “Matter is, said convicts elected to take residence on the other bank of the river. Inside the Westin.”

“Drawing a blank there.” Aleksei blinked slowly.

“If you sailed upstream into town, then you probably saw it on the way in. It’s on the side of the river opposite to the old town, just downstream of the convention center. Big hotel, light brown facade, posh stuff, too pricey for my tastes.”

“I think I remember the general area.” She nodded. “And the convicts? If they have the whole town to loot, I don’t see any reason why they’d bother you. Or any other of the locals. Are there any?”

“I think?” Ho-Jin hesitated. “I mean last time they did im-”

The kirin hadn’t finished his sentence when the relative quiet of the garage was interrupted by the sound of an air horn going off outside. The two kirins swore in tandem, Ho-Jin immediately taking his shotgun out of his scabbard.

“Come on out freak, we’s wantin’ some words witcha!” A voice called out loudly through a megaphone.

“Ho-Jin?” Aleksei queried.

“Stay hidden and keep quiet for now, I’ll see what they want. C’mon boy.” He called to his grandson, jerking his head towards the outside.

Without sparing one more word for the sailors, the two raced outside towards the stairs that allowed them to climb onto the gas station’s awning from the backside. Aleksei watched them leave in a hurry before she turned towards her team.

“What now?” Scarface crossed his arms.

“Observation. Get your guns ready just in case, I’ll sneak around the back and fly on the garage’s roof. Anything goes wrong, I tell you on the radio. Thanasis, you contact the fleet and tell them what’s what, got it?”

“Aye ma’am.” The Greek sphinx nodded before he padded over to their truck.

It was easy to find the service exit in the back of the garage, she only had to push aside a makeshift ashtray and a couple empty boxes before she sneaked out of the building and opened up her wings, taking to the air just long enough to grab the edge of the garage’s roof.

Better not fly too high and announce her position to the whole block. She pulled herself up – with difficulty, carrying a patrol loadout didn’t help- and slowly crawled on her belly towards the opposite edge. She’d better hope the bandits didn’t look up. High-vis coveralls, light green coat and white crest feathers? She stood out like a sore thumb.

The bandits weren’t very hard to find either, having formed a group of about eight of them in front of the gates. Most were ponies of all four tribes, with the odd exception of one big Diamond Dog in the back wielding an AK.

They had come in a pair of black Cadillac Escalades, each vehicle’s formerly pristine paintjob covered in orange graffiti shaped like a scowling face on their hoods under a layer of makeshift cage armor that Aleksei doubted could actually sustain any kind of impact.

Not a particularly skilled group then, or at least they lacked proper technicians. The D-Dog was dressed somewhat correctly thanks to his resemblance to humans, but such wasn’t the case for the equines in his group with their hastily thrown together clothes and makeshift armor.

They were armed though, with the unicorns in the group blatantly levitating their guns loosely trained towards the two kirins. She could understand the technique, but she sincerely doubted that it could be very accurate. There was a dark green unicorn leading the group, a stallion with dreadlocks and a spiked chain wrapped around his barrel. He was the one levitating the air horn and megaphone.

“Hey freak! Get down here, we’s gotta have a lil’ chat with you!” He called out to Ho-Jin with a sneer.

“I can hear you just fine from here. And I got a name. It’s Park. Use it.” The old kirin quietly said.

“Oh, he’s gotsa name? You heard him guys? Freak’s got a name?” He laughed out loud. “Like ah give a fuck.”

“What do you want?”

“What we want? Ah! You know, that wasn’t very nice of you what you did the other day to mah guys, shootin’ at them and all.”
“They were breaking down my gate and threatening me. This station is my property, and I’ll defend it. What else do you expect?” Ho-Jin flatly stated. “Again: what do you want?”

Aleksei saw the pony smirk.

“Oh, tis pretty simple actually. You see, ah’m a concerned citizen o’ this nation, and ah couldn’t help but notice the present lack o’ law and order in this here town.” He chuckled grimly. “Now, ah can’t in good conscience let the citizens go unprotected, there be so few o’ us left. Thankfully, me Boss and Mister Councilor, they’s got us a plan. Society needs a savin’ ya git?”

“I don’t.”

“Tis very simple ac’ually.” The pony nodded sagely. “Our boss, he’s a kind guy. He sez he wanna overlook what you did shootin’ at our guys. But he wants a service. You be good, drop the guns and shit, you come down, and then we got our plan: wez collectin’ the citizenry, we do the protectin’, and in exchange, you folks gotta work fo’ us all. And you’s gotta need the protection, they be attackin’ folks with drones an’ trains an’ shit out here.”

The look of disbelief on Ho-Jin’s muzzle was almost a perfect match to Aleksei’s. Did that goon believe for a single second that his pitch was going to convince anyone? They were just rounding up servants, and his attempt at a masquerade was like lipstick on a pig. Smelt like shit from a mile away.

Though it did explain why the looters couldn’t just leave locals alone. It sounded a lot like they’d come to realize looting would only bring short term comfort, and now that there weren’t any cops they could just capture servants to do the work and live like kings.

“So? What says?” The dreadlock-wearing unicorn asked expectantly.

“I’ll think about it.” Ho-Jin scoffed.

Apparently that didn’t please the convict because she saw him square up on his hooves and angrily stomp on the asphalt with a neigh, dropping the telekinetic grip he had on his megaphone. Before he could say anything, Aleksei quickly fired off her daily appeasement spell in his direction. His eyes glazed over for a second, but he didn’t seem to notice he’d just been bespelled. He just shook his head, now a bit calmer, chuckling lightly.

“You’s a clever ‘un init? Yes-yes, ah can see, tis an important decision ‘fter all, right hey boys?” He called back to his goons. “So Im’a set the example. The boss is a kind guy, so today’s the day Im’a follow the leader. You got.. uh… twenty four hours to decide! We gonna come back tomorrow, and you gonna tell us whether you wanna follow us kindly, or we gotta make you follow us, you get?”

“I… I guess?” Ho-Jin blinked, surprised at the sudden change of mood.

That satisfied the convict pony. He turned on his hooves and barked a couple orders to his goons who piled back in their vehicles, driving off back towards the Westin hotel where Ho-Jin claimed they’d set up shop.

At least they were gone, but now what?

For the first time in the last few months, Lexington felt happy. Not unbridled joy, but content, satisfied with the outcome of the past few events.

The HPI train he’d been on had finally made it back to base, now laden with the spoils of the sailors’ art collecting spree for their cultural preservation initiative, the prototypes from the lost European facility, and some potentially useful artifacts to study ancient human magic. That was something that would make the Upper Echelon pretty happy for at least a couple months, and if they were happy, then they weren’t all over his back questioning his ethics or pestering Eko.

Because if they were pestering the damn Indonesian, he would invariably find his way inside his lab and that meant he had to chase him off with threats of blackmail. For a guy so intent on climbing his way to the top, their contact agent with the sailors proved surprisingly easy to get dirt on.

Outside, the train was just chugging along a normal Appalachian valley when it slowed down for no apparent reason before taking a junction, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. With its swarm of drones trailing behind, the train dipped into a narrow trench that led to an out-of-the-way tunnel entrance. Up in the front car, Keyes didn’t even slow down the convoy as their transponder pinged a sensor at the junction that activated the tunnel gates.

The train then dove inside the tunnel, the thick armored gates sliding back in place not a second after the last drone was inside. They drove down the tracks for about five more minutes in complete darkness before finally reaching a much larger cavern that was lit up with a myriad of powerful floodlights hanging from the gantries that ran overhead, the train tracks junctioning off into a half dozen different quays, each with its own separate decontamination system and cargo handling gear.

With the sole exception of the hydroponics section, this was by far the biggest single space inside the whole facility. And while the hydroponics had been made larger than strictly necessary for the sake of having green spaces for the HPI operators to hang around in (a stark contrast with the much smaller facility in France), the rail yard and adjoining hangars were strictly utilitarian, with drab concrete, steel gantries and aggressive neon lights highlighting a space that would make Cheyenne Mountain look like an overhyped prepper bunker.

Each quay of the yard would first run thaumic scanners over the entire train before they were allowed to roll further inside to discharge their cargo and replenish supplies. Some lesser operators would man the cranes and offload all that gear where it was carted off towards the multiple gigantic lifts that either led up to the hangar and launch bay for their fleet of VTOL crafts, or down towards the rest of the facility. Already a gang of operators had made off with the container housing the artifacts, intent on bringing it to the secure storage that lay below their thaumaturgics department.

Lexington walked out of the shield car, its generator powering down with a loud thrum at the same time as he rolled his shoulders, letting the artificial wind of the facility’s ventilation brush over him. The closest approximation to wind he might ever get nowadays, what with the stringent requirements that came with EVA.

They weren’t certain about it, but contamination from thaumically-charged objects held a risk they weren’t willing to take. Which meant NBC suits for all EVA, tethered to the train via a power cord, and forced to stay in range of a shield unit, train car-sized as they were… for now.

He ignored the bustling of activity on the quay as multiple operatives of all ranks began drilling the train’s crew for info on the outside world. Instead, he breezed past them and made a beeline for the container that held the prototypes from the French facility just as someone was breaking the seals on its doors.

Soon as they were open, his satisfaction about the current day increased threefold. It was just as he’d expected, and just as the R&D departments needed it. Mind, not all HPI facilities were fitted with the same tech prior to the Event, some of it was on purpose (chiefly the shield tech, most of it being untested meant they all used different concepts and hoped at least one would work and see them through the cataclysm), some of it was due to different policies (the Athena protocol being another example: their version was much more extensive than the version found embedded in the French facility’s mainframe, what with AI-induced paranoia).

And some of that tech difference was also owed to research priorities, and what kind of faculties could be found nearest each HPI facility. Case in point with what he was seeing: research projects shipped from all over Western Europe prior to the Event, cybernetics, drone components, optics sensors, high-precision servomotors and...

Exoskeletons. The one big thing the French (or European rather, it being a joint venture) facility always boasted about prior to being lost to shield failure during the Event. There were a couple of them strewn about inside the container, various models from the barebones, clunky Mk.1 that struggled to carry its own bulky battery pack to the Mk.5 that completely wrapped the wearer under multiple layers of ceramic plating.

“Like what you see?” Eko suddenly asked as the Indonesian came up behind him.

Lexington threw him an annoyed glance and put up a neutral mask.

“Quite. I’ll have to consult with the engineering section of R&D but we should be able to make our own copies in short order. They will need some upgrades though.”

“How so? The armor looks just fine to me.” Eko contested, idly smoothing a wrinkle on his suit.

“The facility in France didn’t have access to our advances in battery tech and power storage. Their version is made to operate on site with a steady supply of batteries available, but we could use these for something else entirely if I were to outfit them with our platinum-palladium fuel cells.”

“Do explain.”

“It’s something that’s been in discussion among the R&D folks. As you know, in addition to my oversight on the entire biology department, I’ve been working on thaumic shield tech and I’ve made use of this little excursion outside the wire to try out a miniature shield array. With the tech used by the failed shield unit from France, except updated.”

“I take it there was a point to it?”

“There is.” Lexington nodded, momentarily forgetting his animosity towards Eko. “The shield used in that facility may not have been as useless as we first thought. It was unable to protect an entire facility, but according to my observations it does actually offer protection, if in a different manner due to its projector unit. In my own notes I’ve taken to dub it the P-type shield, in opposition to the S-type we use to protect the trains and this whole facility.

The S-type stands for safezone. It has its own shortcomings, but overall it works great to protect large areas because of its projector unit. The P-type is the contrary, it's better geared towards shielding on a very short radius, but it’s several times more efficient than an S-type at doing it. The ‘P’ I chose stands for ‘personal’.

That means the shield in France actually did work, but the shielding range its operating parameters allowed was several orders of magnitude too short to protect a facility.”

“And you may have found a use for the P-type.”

“Correct. I’ll need a long time improving upon it to miniaturize it and it’s still going to be very heavy, but with these exoskeletons – provided we remove the ceramic plating to shed weight- we could have a long range EVA suit that’s not dependent on staying in range of a larger S-type shield projector like we need to with the train. I might even be able to make a larger version to shield the interior of aircraft and road vehicles. The tech is ready, it’s more a matter of balancing between battery, shielding, armor and general utility within the weight constraints the exoskeleton allows for.”

“That sounds excellent. I’m sure the security department will be happy to know they might get to do more stuff in the future besides piloting drones.” Eko smiled, crossing his arms over his chest.

What went unsaid between them was that the exoskeletons were but the tip of the iceberg. Along with the artifacts that had been carted off into thaumaturgics (which were probably undergoing extensive scanning at the moment) came all the biological samples Lexington had ordered from Doctor Delacroix, and their arrival released a lot of his more secretive project from limbo as well. Biology projects that is, Lexington’s actual turf that was all about making humans able to tread the Earth once more.

That was a long way away though. Before that could be done, they had to either find ancient human genetic material (intact that is, mummies were… inadequate) or find a way to isolate what made animals and returnees immune to thaumic radiation and integrate it into current human DNA. Not an easy process, nor was it a fast one even with all the ethical shortcuts he was taking in the secrecy of his lab.

Turns out, the removal of ethics committees greatly sped up testing. Who would have thought? Not his lab mice.

“You’re being awfully silent.” Eko commented.

“Just thinking is all.” Lexington shoved his hands in the pockets of his lab coat. “There was this idea we’ve been throwing about in the labs about making it so we don’t even have to put a guy from security inside the exoskeleton.”

“Androids?”

“We’re a ways away from that.” He shrugged. “It’s in the backlog, but expect it to stay there for a while. We have the power, the frame with the exoskeletons, but our comms and onboard sensors aren’t up to par yet. Androids are more complicated than mere UAV’s.”

In a few years maybe. Might be worth making a bet which of their far-fetched plans would see the light of day first: the gene therapy on animals or the androids.

And that was without mentioning that one thing they were developing in tandem with the Asian HPI facility. The biological remote control.

“Either way...” Lexington sighed and slumped slightly at the prospect of more long hours. “Gotta go, I need to make sure the guys down in thaumaturgics don’t damage all the samples and artifacts we just receptioned.”

Diving bells. In principle, nothing really complicated insofar that it was only about getting an air bubble underwater for the sake of divers. In fact the general idea was so simple that even the ancient Greeks had used them to explore the Mediterranean.

Fugro’s was a little bit more complicated than an upside-down cauldron however. Millennia of technological advancement had a habit of doing that. Near her moonpool, a large hangar door opened up to reveal it as it was rolled into position on the main deck under the watchful eyes of all crewmembers and a slightly worried Vàzquez who kept going over his notes, almost not noticing when a sailor mounted one of Fugro’s deck cranes and proceeded to raise the bell above the pool.

As they called it, it was a dry diving bell. A type ideal for prolonged dives at extreme depths that provided divers with a sheltered habitat that would normally connect to the sea via an airlock system. It had an umbilical tether to connect it to the ship to provide air and power, power that was required for the little electric propeller and hovering pumps that would normally keep the bell in position under the ship despite situations like the presence of a shearing current – having a current on the surface that’s not the same as on the bottom-.

The other neat perk with a dry bell system was that they could ascend however fast they needed to without having to adjust inner pressure along the way. They could also raise it out of the water and connect it to a decompression chamber for transfers without ever exposing the divers to the bends.

Inside the control room, another console had been turned on to allow the bell’s operator – Floyd, a griffon- to guide it towards Georgia. Slow-going as it was. The diving bell was nowhere near as nimble as the ROV’s, and neither were its optics particularly good. Plus, there was the whole clutter that had sprouted around the submarine as of late:

There were at least a dozen various tethers and cables that Floyd had to avoid on the way down, all in close proximity of one another as they connected Fugro to Georgia. Too many times he had to stop the descent to ask one of the seapony divers to get a cable out of the way to let the bell through and avoid entangling the umbilicals.

Standing beside Captain Skinner’s chair, Vàzquez couldn’t stop himself from gnawing on his pencil as he watched the feed on the cameras, his mind flicking from that potential problem to another faster than he ever thought he could think, unhelpfully bringing up memories of felled submarines.

Squalus

Cocino

Thresher.

Scorpion.

Kursk.

“Worried aren’t you?” Skinner inquired in a calm tone.

“Sir, they’re my shipmates. I’ve known some of them since I enlisted.” The D-Dog’s voice trembled, Hispanic accent seeping through. “If anything happens, it will be my fault that they’re trapped down there. And I, I was lucky enough to get out...” He trailed off.

“There’s the Samoan we got out of the sonar sphere.” Skinner reminded the young petty officer.

And that hadn’t been easy. Grinding their way through the hull and into the flooded compartment had taken several shifts of cutting through the thick metal that was Georgia’s outer shell, made all the harder by the fact seapony divers weren’t very dexterous even when given tool gauntlets.

But they did get to him. A disturbing scene from the description Skinner had been given. Petty Officer Mauga had been trapped in there, in complete darkness for several days, immobile with the drifting corpses of his shipmates floating lifelessly around him.

He hadn’t said a word ever since. Psychological trauma most likely. He had been transferred to Rhine Forest and kept under constant surveillance ever since thanks to Nurse Marta but… there were genuine concerns he might try to end his life, and he’d panic whenever he saw anything more than a cup of water.

A cruel fate for a seapony/hippogriff.

“With all due respect Captain, I hope they won’t suffer Mauga’s fate.” Vàzquez slowly said.

“I’m sure they won’t.” Skinner reassured before the Scottish hedgefog turned his eyes back towards the screens just as Georgia’s looming black shadow came into view of the floodlights, all the underwater flares and chemlights the divers had dropped around it for visibility looking like Christmas streamers without the obnoxious blinking.

“Aim for the aft launch tubes.” Vàzquez pointed towards an indent along the sub’s spine. “They’ve been modified for diver transfer. The lockout trunk is bigger, that’ll transfer more crew.”

“Diver transfer?” Floyd queried.

“Some boats of the class can carry SEAL teams to their AO, it’s a retrofit. We converted two of the missile tubes into dive transfer chambers. Hell, if we mount the proper gear along the back we can also have a DSRV – a minisub- at the ready for them. Just wasn’t in use this time ‘round, t’was just a regular deterrence patrol.” He shrugged.

“You heard the guy.” Skinner nodded sharply. “Aim for the aft tube, port side. And someone get on the line with Captain Green to tell him we’re making our first docking attempt.”

“On it sir.” Quinn piped in from the back before the First Officer left the room to go inform Georgia’s CO.

At a speed worthy of a snail, they watched the large orange-painted bell in its steel frame approach the hatch, its operator positioning it as carefully as he could above it with little bursts of the propellers.

“Ready to connect.” Floyd called out.

“You may proceed.”

Floyd depressed the joystick he was holding in his talons, and the bell moved onto its last maneuver to press itself against the hatch. The size of its docking clamp was easily large enough to fully encompass the sub’s outer hatch. Behind the controls, Floyd frowned as his eyes passed over a few readouts.

“Experiencing difficulties with the docking. Can’t align properly.” He warned.

“The sub’s heeled. Do your best. Can you pressurize the seal?” Skinner queried.

Floyd leaned forward, talons flicking over a few ballast controls to try and heel the bell to match the submarine’s resting angle. Georgia had quite a bit of an angle to her, being heeled both backwards and to starboard.

“There, maybe…” Floyd uttered as he pushed the throttle to press the bell against the hatch. “Okay, I’m sending air in the seal. Let’s see if we can pressurize that.” He finally said, pressing a large button on the side of his screen, eyes riveted on the readout that would show him the pressure inside of the connection.

Up on the surface, Fugro’s compressors started running overtime to send large volumes of air down the umbilical to overcome 600 feet of water pressure… but the readouts didn’t change. Outside, on the ROV’s cameras, they just spotted a cloud of bubbles escape the seal.

“Too much angle sir.” He shook his head. “The bell ain’t made to work beyond a 5° operating angle, the more I try to heel it, the more it tries to wrench itself upright. Can’t do shit without causing a leaky connection, sorry.”

Vàzquez’s face fell, and the D-Dog couldn’t help but let out a very canine whimper at the revelation as he stared at the floor. He vaguely heard Quinn transfer the call with Captain Green over to Skinner who revealed the news, much to his CO’s dismay.

His eyes drifted to the printed documents he had on rescue subs and evacuation procedures and… he spotted a picture of a REMORA. Really Excellent Way Of Rescuing Aussies as it was humorously called, the Australian Navy’s own version of a rescue submarine that they could airlift wherever they needed it. The thing wasn’t exactly rocket science, and it had been in service for a while, but there was one little thing…

Instead of a rescue bell’s flat connection with a gasket like that of Fugro’s diving bell, the Australians had mounted some kind of segmented ball seal to the bottom of the vehicle to improve its operating arc, just so it could dock to heeled submarines.

Vàzquez frowned, a trickle of hope starting to fill his heart as he flipped through his documents. There was this little project he knew they had been working on in Kings Bay prior to their departure. He was pretty sure some on the crew had even worked on it, if only just a bit.

Thing is, the US Navy had started creating a replacement for the minisubmarines (the Mystics) they would normally deploy to evacuate submarines. They called it the SRDRS. Based off of the REMORA, most of it wasn’t completed as far as he knew but…

The segmented docking clamp was.

“Captain.” He interrupted, suddenly beaming as if he’d just struck gold. “I have an idea.”

Rockhoof’s combat shovel was held firmly in his mouth, ready to strike as he tensely stared at the… forest guardian? Yeah, he could settle with the name for now. The guardian was staring right back at them with its malicious gaze, the claws on its forelimbs kneading the forest floor.

Behind him, he heard Albert shift his stance, the centaur pawing at the ground and readjusting his grip on his axe.

The sheer adrenaline in his bloodstream made Rock grit his teeth, each heartbeat making his eardrums thrum, strength-improving magic coursing through his muscles and making them contract frenetically.

One beat.

The forest guardian’s claws tightened around a root cluster at the base of a tree stump.

Two beats.

In the distance, hoofsteps.

Three beats.

The world exploded into motion. The guardian raised its arms and hurled the tree stump at them in a cloud of dirt and debris. Rockhoof expertly ducked under the projectile, immediately galloping towards the guardian with a determined look on his muzzle.

Albert wasn’t so lucky. Still fairly new to his body, the centaur was hit by the stump full-force, making him collapse and drop his axe as the magically-enriched roots wrapped around him and tied him to a nearby pine, painfully constricting around his form.

Rock didn’t see that. He was in range of the guardian’s attacks now, pushing on his hind legs to catapult himself over a swipe of its claws before he brought down his combat shovel in a hit that connected with its shoulder. In a display of agility that belied the Earth Pony’s large bulk, he proceeded to switch his grip on the shovel that was still planted in the guardian’s shoulder, somersaulted over the construct and wrenched out his weapon in a spray of sap and rotten wood.

He landed on the other side of the guardian in a well-practiced roll, carefully gauging the damage his attack had caused as he turned around on his hooves.

The construct didn’t cry out in pain. It didn’t collapse. It didn’t flinch. It simply turned around to face him. Rockhoof watched its wound pulse with green magic and knit itself back together with only the groan of wood as the root-muscles filled the gap caused by his weapon.

The local equivalent of a king timberwolf then? Only that one seemed much better at putting itself back together. More disciplined too.

He glared at the construct and reared up on his hooves in challenge.

The forest guardian didn’t react to the taunt. Slowly, it lifted a forelimb in the air and held it above its head for a few seconds, letting it build up little orbs of green magic. Then, it plunged it into the ground with an earthshaking tremor. Rock’s eyes widened when he saw the ground churn and ripple, something racing towards him at breakneck speed.

He tried to dodge sideways, but the ripple just followed his movements, forcing him to brace for impact and…

“Stop!” He suddenly heard Martin yell.

Rockhoof cracked an eye open. Not a hoof’s width away from his muzzle were roots that had just sprouted from the ground, their sharpened tips halted in their charge towards him just before they could hit. He glanced towards the now immobile forest guardian.

Soddin’ thing was actually a lot more capable than any variant of timberwolf. On the other end of the clearing, Albert gasped as the roots that had been keeping attached to a pine retracted into the stump. Judging by how he stood up, he may even have a few cracked ribs.

No small feat. Centaurs tended to be pretty tough, particularly the draft variants like him.

“They’ve done nothing wrong!” Martin cried out as he came in the clearing from the path that led to the castle, jabbing a thin cloven hoof at the guardian.

The forest guardian just stood still for a couple seconds before it slowly turned its head towards the deep woods. Out emerged the White Stag in all its regal appearance, it strode into the clearing and cast an imperious look upon the premises, mutely scoffing at Rockhoof and Albert before it moved over to Martin.

Rock almost moved to interpose himself between the fawn and the Stag before he felt a cold grip hold him back, only then taking note of Starswirl’s magical grasp. He threw the ghost – his court mage technically- a questioning look, only for his friend to point back towards where Martin and the Stag were staring into each other’s eyes, eerily silent under the forest guardian’s hulking shadow.

The silent exchange kept on for a few more minutes before the White Stag finally let out a snort and stamped its hoof on the ground.

“No! They don’t want to destroy the forest!” Martin protested. “They just need wood for building and fire, they don’t want to raze it.”

The Stag looked over towards Rock in contempt and threw the younger fawn bearing his mark a dubious look.

“I promise they’re good people.” He insisted, dropping on his haunches and addressing the White Stag a puppy-eyed look. “They just need some space, but they can replant and-”

He was interrupted when it nuzzled him on the forehead, nudging him towards Rockhoof before jerking its head in a direction the adults were pretty sure pointed to the Golden Tree. Then, sparing a look for the forest guardian, it trotted back into the woods, followed shortly by the guardian.

Martin took it as his cue to head back towards Rockhoof where he nuzzled up to his adoptive father.

“So what was that all about?” Rock questioned him as he rubbed a comforting hoof over the fawn’s back.

“He wasn’t happy. He said your cutting the trees upset the guardians.”

Rockhoof’s eyes trailed towards the sharpened roots and the uprooted stump.

“I think he got his point across.” He chuckled with a small smile. “But what were you two talking about?”

“I said the castle had good people and that we just want to live. He said...” He scowled cutely. “He said… that it was time to introduce me to Lord Cernunnos? He said it like he’s someone important.”

“Talk about an understatement.” Starswirl quipped from where he was examining Albert’s wounds and throwing a quick healing spell. “I figure he said something else?”

“Yes Mister Merlin!”Martin nodded his head eagerly. “He told me to bring the catel-, the calet-, the castel...”

“The castellan?” The wizard filled in. “That’s the lord of a castle.”

“He told me to bring him to Lord Cernunnos too, at the Golden Tree. To, uh… to broker a deal, I think he said?”

Starswirl blinked. He could picture the Horned God of the Celts recruiting the fawn in his fray. In a fashion, it made sense (though that didn’t help the burden that was piling on poor Martin) because deer as a whole fell under his purview.

Brokering a deal with Rockhoof though? That was unlike him. Last he checked Cernunnos preferred to keep to his own affairs and only ever kept in touch with the outer world through his various followers. Negotiating in person – nay, negotiating at all – was unlike him.

That was going to be interesting.

Author's Notes:

Also known as 'in which the HPI gets its power armor'.... among other things.

I tried to give some thought as to what would justify banditry in a setting like PaP. After all, in the first year the population is basically cut down to 1/10.000th of what it was, meaning resources are technically plentiful by virtue of stocks being made for a lot more people. Why then, harrass other people?

Amenities need personnel to function properly. That would be why.

Props to you if you caught the movie reference in this chapter too.

On a meta level, so far so good. Got ten buffer chapters already written up in case I need to take a breather, so you can be certain the show will go on 'til the end of the Georgia arc. Already busy with the next one, too. Just contemplating what I can add as scenes that are not tied to the 'main stuff' that are Brittany and the Fleet.

Until next week folks.