Even for Amandine, getting from Georgia to Cuba wasn’t actually that long of a passage, at about 650 nautical miles in length. On paper it was also pretty straightforward: leave Savannah, sail south along the east-american coast until they were past Miami, then alter course south-west and aim for the bay of Havana. One day and a half of travel.

Of course they also had to play catch up with the rest of the fleet. Rhine and Fugro held a head start of roughly a hundred nautical miles, meaning the RoRo had to push her engines beyond her usual cruise speed. Not by that much though: she was, after all, the fastest ship of the three and could push to 25 knots if necessary. A respectable speed for a merchant ship.

And compared to Fugro’s paltry 16 knots? They caught up with them by the time they were abreast of Ft. Lauderdale. The area wasn’t too bad to sail in, if different from what they’d experienced in Georgia. Clear weather kept throughout the whole passage, showing no sign of turning into the tropical storms that had battered the area prior to their arrival in the US.

If anything they actively longed for a bit of breeze to stave off the heat. The tropical warmth gimmick got old real quick for the engineering department in particular as the sheer heat within the engine room soon passed the 40°C threshold.

From the outside, they watched the relatively undeveloped Georgian coastline and its wetlands turn into the far more urbanized Florida. Gone were the odd houses built upon the sparse dry land, now replaced by long sandy beaches that stretched for miles, behind which they could see villas, seaside resorts and seafront skyscrapers, the latter becoming more apparent the closer they got to Miami.

There were the Bahamas too, on the opposite side of Florida, but the archipelago was so far from their convoy it was only visible if they tuned their radars to their maximum range, a distant yellow blotch on the circular display.

That didn’t tell them much about the state of the Bahamas, but in all likelihood it was still better than Florida. Sure, the region hadn’t suffered a quarter of the destruction they discovered in Georgia, but that didn’t mean it was in a pristine state by far. The damage to all the seaside resorts for one was particularly visible with a quick check through their binoculars, most of them now nothing but broken, empty husks -some having burned and collapsed from unchecked fires- that served to house the downright monumental flocks of seabirds they spotted flying around. Seagulls mostly, all too glad to live off the rotting scraps of a dead society.

Abandoned urban centers were biomes in their own right.

Biologists would have a field day nerding out about the phenomenon. Animals reclaiming urban centers that is. There were plenty of resources mice and other rodents could survive on within the confines of the many empty houses and skyscrapers, these same buildings also providing safe nesting grounds and shelters for all those animals.

It wasn’t surprising to see their population had skyrocketed.

“Well, ain’t you observant?” Nastya chuckled from her position behind the helm as the griffon hen was running a file over her talons.

A frequent habit for her species, whether they put covers over their talons to avoid damaging stuff – as Vadim usually did- or not.

“Nah… just speculating. I need to keep the gears running up there you know?” Greet replied, tappingatalonon the side of her head. “It’s not like there are a lot of obstacles to pay attention to anyway.”

Beyond the other ships in the convoy, of course. And even then, all three Captains had been adamant that they keep a safety distance between each of them. That, in turn, meant watchkeeping on that stretch of sea wasn’t much more than filling the logbook and keeping track of the outside weather and currents.

That’s usually what happens when you have waypoints as far apart as a hundred nautical miles. You start your watch going in one direction, and four hours later by the time you hand the watch over to the next Officer, you’re still going the same way. As it stood then? Maybe Micha would get to accomplish the thrilling event of turning five degrees to starboard when they were clear of the Florida Keys.

For a job involving steering multi-thousand tons vehicles, navigation could be surprisingly boring at times.
“I’m seeing some shoals on the map… I think...” Nastya commented.

Without saying a word, Greet walked over to her helms-… hen and took control of the ECDIS, quickly checking the distance between them and the shoals off the Bahamas.

“Closest we should pass to them is sixty miles. You were saying?”

“Nevermind then.” Nastya shrugged. “God this is going to be boring.”

One deck below, in the Captain’s office, Dilip was in heated talks with some of his crew members regarding their next port of call. Or rather: they were heated and he was rather nonchalant about their concerns.

“What do you mean you don’t mind?!” Artyom raised his voice, the dragon planting his balled fists on his desk as the Captain kept calmly sipping his tea.

“Calm down, bosun, you’re out of line.” Dilip calmly said after squeezing a few drops of lemon in his teacup.

“Sir, they’re communists!” The recently recovered blue dragon waved a claw towards a porthole pointing in Cuba’s general direction.

For someone who was just recovering from blood loss, the veteran was being surprisingly energetic. He wasn’t alone of course. Behind him were a couple of the crew’s ratings, Eastern European mostly. Not much of a surprise. Micha and Vadim were among them too, though the two Officers had yet to speak up.

And behind Dilip’s seat, his Chief Officer and Engineer were poised and ready to support him.

“I’m aware, yes.” Dilip inclined his head. “But I fail to see how that’s a problem.”

“Captain, you can’t just wave off all the damage caused by this… ideology.” Vadim carefully said, the griffon walked forward of the little crowd, nudging Artyom back with his wing. “Communism, that’s what caused the Holodomor… it’s killed millions in the past century. Ask anyone from post-Soviet countries about all the misery, the police state, the scarcity…”

“Yet I’ve heard jokes about communism. From all of you.” Dilip pointed out.

“Eh it’s Slavic humor. We like it like our coffee: black.” Vadim explained with a shrug of his wings. “Soviet times were terrible, and most of us that didn’t live through it or weren’t old enough to realize grew up with parents telling us how bad it was. The jokes are just to make levity of a catastrophe.”

“I second that.” Micha spoke up. “Gramps was in Solidarnosc since its founding. Told me all about the martial law, the repression, the struggle… Never stopped him from telling jokes about it all either.”

“Ok ok, I get it.” Dilip raised a paw to halt her. “But what’s your point then? I get it, none of you are big supporters of communism. What does it change to what we’re going to do in Cuba?”

“We can’t support them if they’re going to stick to communism!” Artyom was quick to say.

Dilip just leaned back in his seat, with his teacup still steaming in his lap. Calmly, he turned his head towards Alejandro to his right.

“Chief Officer, would you please remind me of the policies our organization has decided to follow? I think you know which I’m referring to.”

He saw the hyacinth macaw take a deep breath, his crest of feathers rising slightly before he opened his beak.

“The Switzerland Clause. We have a strict policy not to interfere in how any colony or group we come across decide to govern themselves. It is not our right as foreigners to dictate the kind of government they choose to form upon setting up their colony.” He recited.

“A bit more wordy than the original...” Dilip turned to the rest of the crowd. “… but I think you get the gist of it, no?”

“So you suggest we just let it slide?” Artyom scowled.

“Let them choose however they want to govern themselves. Ultimately it doesn’t matter much to us. They want to remain communist? Good for them. Only thing we want is to set them up enough so that they can trade with us in the future.” Dilip told them. “It’s not like I’m asking any of you to go live there for the rest of your life.”

“Question is: where will we live eventually?” Vadim suddenly said. “I mean… there will come a point where we’ll have to set up a base somewhere, right?”

“That is another matter entirely… but I agree.” Dilip nodded. “And when it will happen, I promise it will not be subjected to the Switzerland Clause. You’ll all have a say in how it’s led.”

“But wher-” Artyom was about to say when the office’s door opened to reveal Sandra. Their radio operator was cradling a thick stack of papers between her bat-like wings, looking a bit tired.

“Hello Miss Jensen.” Dilip greeted her. “We were just done discussing colonial politics. What brings you here today?”

“Captain, do you remember the attack on Sao Paulo I mentioned a couple days ago? There’s something I discovered, a theory if you will.”

“Go on then. Best lay it out while we’re all here.” He told her, beckoning her in with a wave of his paw.

Sandra nodded eagerly before she trotted over to his desk and laid out her documents in front of him. Many were weather charts and satellite pictures of the past month, and he could also see a few emails and transcripts. Among the bunch, a bigger map showed the tracks followed by the last couple of tropical storms that had plowed through this part of the world.

“As you know, there have been a couple odd weather events as of late. Storms and hurricanes doing stuff they really aren’t supposed to like moving across the Equator, going overland without losing intensity, backtracking a couple times, stopping...” She recited, punctuating each word with little jabs of her wingtip to show certain areas of her maps. “… and yesterday I was reviewing the transcript of my communications with Sao Paulo when it dawned on me.”

“How so?”

“Captain Cordeira – their colony leader, police guy- told me a storm began prior to the attack, then it faded away immediately after the… the pirates left. There’s a correlation. I think. These weird storms? They follow the pirates. The demonic ones from Equus I mean. Here… look at this map. I traced the path followed by the storm that passed through Sao Paulo.”

She brought out a weather chart showing most of Latin America, with different points each labeled with a date. It showed how the storm had started off in the Lesser Antilles before it continued North for a bit. Then, seemingly out of the blue, it stopped near Dominica, then backtracked all along the Southern American shores until it stopped for a little while over Sao Paulo.

And then it resumed its voyage towards Cape Horn.

Sandra pulled out some old data they had on the pirates most likely to have crossed over from Equus to Earth, and had thus supposedly joined Charybdis’ lot.

“The storms… they’re pirate ships.” She grinned. “And we can track them.”

Dilip looked down at the map.

One pirate in the South Atlantic. Identified as a cruiser by the survivors in Sao Paulo.

One in the South Pacific. Likely an airship since it had crossed overland through Central America.

And a third one roaming about in the West Pacific.

Dilip grinned.

There were many things Eko had to do beyond just overseeing their little alliance and trade agreements with the WSU. The sailors held the prime spot in what occupied his time, but they weren’t the sole thing that did. Agents like him weren’t tied to a particular department of the HPI. They weren’t the Upper Echelon, sure, but they were the ‘black suits’ the dark organization had made use of so extensively prior to the Event.

Most of the Agents’ force had been lost, probably doomed to reappear anytime from now to a couple millennia later, because their role was to be liaisons. Spooks. Intel Officers. The black suited guy in the back of the embassy’s ballroom who kept a pulse on current affairs and signed the deals under the table to get the HPI everything they needed.

Eko? He was of those few lucky enough to have been handing out his reports at the american facility when they went into lockdown. These days, the general lack of liaisons like him was what gave him so much leeway and freedom of action. The Upper Echelon had been quick to turn them into… managers of sorts, who ensured that all the various departments that were the cogs of the HPI’s underground facility ran with a modicum of cohesion. They did their best to keep a leash on loose cannons the likes of Lexington…

Bad example. Eko scowled. In this particular scientist’s case, he was ashamed to admit he was more dancing to his tune rather than the contrary.

But that didn’t mean Lexington represented all cases. There were a couple overeager engineers in their research department he had to keep from wasting valuable resources, just as there were many requests he had to shoot down coming from scientists that wanted the sailors to run experiments for them.

At the price they were asking? Experiment requests were a luxury solely reserved to Lexington, and that was because he had dirt on him.

Then when it wasn’t about making sure all departments ran cohesively, that the researchers didn’t waste their resources, that the sailors were making due on their contract; he also had to enlighten operatives about the realities of post-Event life.

“We’re giving away our humanity!” Kipling protested shrilly.

Eko scowled at the pudgy blonde from nucleonics.

“If that’s your argument, I’m afraid you should try and look outside someday.” He drawled. “Real enlightening. Humanity? Kind of a dated concept to anyone that’s not bound by the limitations of a thaumic shield.”

They were several stories deeper than the underground rail yard, in one of the many concrete hallways that ran throughout the facility like galleries through an anthill. There were dozens upon dozens of those, a real maze that was all too easy to get lost in if you couldn’t pay attention to the proper hints.

An idea from the Engineering department: most of their wiring and piping was color-coded with symbols at regular intervals, all of it visible through the gratings that lined the ceiling of the hallways. If you needed to get anywhere, you just had to follow the arrows and the code.

Brown would get you to shield and reactor, green to hydroponics, red to engineering… But that was the only detail you could rely on to get you anywhere. There weren’t any signs hanging anywhere or even maps, just plain concrete galleries, wide enough to let vehicles and forklifts through, with bracing at regular intervals and maybe a depot, workshop, or an accommodation block if you were in the proper area.

It took a while getting used to.

Right then, they were right by the entrance to the nucleonics' accommodation block. The reason for his presence? The pudgy female nuclear scientist currently jabbing her finger at his chest because he was apparently ignoring her.

“Don’t you try to dodge the question with sass! What they’re doing in biology, it ain’t right!” She yelled shrilly.

The noise was starting to amass a crowd. A couple folks started to come out of their rooms and dorms to investigate, all of them wearing the standard black HPI coveralls.

“What they’re doing is necessary for the survival of mankind.” He calmly stated, pushing her hand away. “We don’t have much of a choice.”

“You’re having us go down a very dark path.” She ground out.

“Dark times beget dark solutions. Listen, I don’t approve of it either...” He sighed, throwing a glance past her and at the other nucleonics folks. “… but all of you should be smart enough to understand this: there aren’t many of us left. Less than a thousand in this facility alone. And we aren’t even properly balanced for reproduction. We’re speaking long term here. These artificial wombs, they’re the only solution if we don’t want to fall to inbreeding and insufficient reproduction. How hard is it to understand that?!”

“Doesn’t make growing babies in vats any more ethical.”

“We. Don’t. Have. A. Choice.” He repeated slowly. “The whole human genetic stock has fallen below a thousand living members, plus whatever genetic material we had in cryo.”

That was practically the same pitch the guys overseeing the reproduction banks had told him when he visited the facility, a couple floors below the biology department. There, in what might be one of the most heavily reinforced sections of the whole facility, was the device that could supposedly recreate humanity from next to nothing.

Two things allowed that.

First, as he just said, were the artificial wombs. Essentially: vats that made babies out of collected genetic material. You didn’t even need eggs or sperm from donors, just DNA that would be implanted in artificial eggs. That in itself was already a prowess that had taken them billions to develop, but then those ready-made eggs could be implanted in the artificial wombs to develop under carefully-controlled and monitored conditions.

Eko had seen the wombs. They were… eerie. Rows upon rows of stainless steel cylinders lining the sides of a bunker, each with a little window that let observers look at the fetuses developing inside, connected to artificial nutrient bags that mimicked placenta.

Needless to say, the experience wasn’t something the Indonesian wanted a repeat of.

Second? The genetic scramblers. To an outsider like Eko they didn’t look like much, but apparently they were the one thing that would prevent them from being reduced to a bunch of morons in the long run because of inbreeding. One of these could apparently remix what DNA they had, clone it, and essentially create the genetic code of an entirely new person that never existed in the first place.

From a limited supply of genetic material, they could grow and clone it well past the threshold that was the minimum viable population.

The caveat with all that stuff?

Not everyone was fully on board with rendering old school style reproduction obsolete. Or human cloning for that matter.

“You know very well we could have come up with another solution.” Kipling insisted in a low tone. “This… this could start us down a very dark path better men have given their lives to avoid. You can’t get away with playing God, unearthing eugenics from the deep dark corner they had been shelved in, and hope nothing bad will happen.” She turned towards the little crowd of nucleonics personnel that had been assembling behind her for the last few minutes. “Is this what we all gave up so much for? To have mankind become a mockery of itself? An affront to God?”

Eko scoffed.

“An affront to God?” He half-laughed. “Lady, you’re delusional. There ain’t no God watching over us on this Earth. If there were, I’m pretty sure we’d have had some kind of miracle make us able to leave this bunker without suits and shields. No. The Gods out there? They don’t care about those same humans that forsook them. Not anymore.”

And as he was saying that, he watched Kipling’s face fall as the grim state of their situation dawned on her, the pudgy woman’s shoulders sagging. She stared at the ground blankly, barely noticing as her superior Lockwood made his way to the front of the crowd, the gaunt South-African putting his hand on her shoulder.

“We’re in a bad spot aren’t we? Humanity I mean.”

Eko’s eyes turned more sympathetic.

“We’re in a very dark place.”

“You know, this place isn’t so bad come to think of it.” Angelo nodded appreciatively.

Vadim had invited the minotaur to his and Micha’s cabin, if only to sort out some questions he had over the fuel bunkers. A triviality done in a few minutes before they moved on to just playing video games in the cabin’s living room.

But it did let him take a peek at the griffons’ new cabin.

“I know right? Feels a lot better to have something that’s been designed for griffons than the old cabins. Easier to keep an eye on Andy too.” Vadim acknowledged as he motioned with his beak towards the cub that was play-hunting with her toys next to the couch.

“Can’t relate.” Angelo shrugged. “Not much of an issue for me. Minotaurs, humans, the difference isn’t too drastic.”

“The size though?” Vadim asked as he was laying belly down on the couch with a controller in his talons.

“Annoying, but nothing I can’t live with.” Angelo shrugged. “You get used to it, like not breaking stuff randomly by managing your strength or not gouging ceilings with your horns.” He explained, tapping a finger against the corks he wore on his horn tips.

But really, Vadim had it good with the newly modified cabin. What used to be two Officer-sized cabins, each with its own bathroom, had become a little apartment in its own right, modified to better suit quadrupeds the size of griffons. One bathroom had been removed to make some room, the bedrooms reduced in size slightly, but the space saved allowed for a lot if you used it cleverly.

From the passageway side, there were still two doors, except that now one of them led to a small Office for both Micha and Vadim, while the other led to a small hallway that was their actual quarters. The hallway led to two bedrooms, a big one for the parents with a double bed set at the proper height for griffons, and a smaller one for the kids – Andy that is-. Two other doors would lead to either a slightly enlarged and revamped bathroom, or to the living room in which Angelo and Vadim were currently sitting.

And it itself had a door that led back to their office.

Granted, it still was a cabin on a ship. It was a bit cramped, it had storage spaces filling up every nook and cranny, the living room didn’t have room for much more than a couch, a coffee table and a television, but it certainly was an improvement over their previous quarters. Better than having their little griffon family spread over three cabins, and more efficient. Decorations from their previous cabins covered up the walls: Micha’s Sabaton posters, Vadim’s collection of war records and books, his kit car schematics (if he ever got back to Poland he’d get that Escort Mk.2 back!), all hiding the beige hues and fake wood panels of the original walls.

Plus there were the perches they’d added along the walls. The feline part of a griffon? No shame in indulging.

“So whatcha gonna do in Cuba?” Vadim asked offhandedly, rolling over on his back on the couch.

“Dunno. Relax I guess? Tropical island, so maybe I’m just going to waste some time on a beach, try and hit up Artem-” He stopped.

“Well there it is.” Vadim grinned.

“C’mon man. You got Micha. Boris got Anton. She’s a mino’, she’s pretty hot, she’s Greek like me… a bull can try, can’t he?” He snorted bovinely.

“I get the feeling. You do know though?”

“Yeah. We minos are like you.” He nodded. “Pair up for life and all. Not a bad thing if you ask me. Reason why I wanna ask Artemis out too you know. Greek remember?”

Vadim glanced away from the TV for a moment.

“Isn’t there another minotaur on Fugro too? Can’t recall exactly.”

“Correct. She ain’t Greek though… and much as I like bangs on a girl, Highland cattle levels? Bit much pal.” He smiled. “Enough of me though. Your plans?”

“Man, I’m sooo gonna get myself one of those Cuban taxis. Don’t even care if what it’s got under the hood is an old UAZ engine.”

It wasn’t until the next morning that the fleet made it to Havana a little after sunrise. For what there was to say about the shoreline that preceded the Cuban Capital, is that at least it rose a bit higher above ground than Florida and Georgia they’d just left behind. It wasn’t steep by any stretch of imagination – if anything, the beaches they could see ashore were a proof of the contrary- but it wasn’t as vulnerable to the wrath of the elements as what they’d previously seen.

There was also a little peculiarity in the Northern Cuban shoreline around Havana in that, surprisingly for a coast that was relatively linear, it held a respectable amount of bays and coves. They weren’t the expansive inlets of the Georgian wetlands, nor were they canal-worthy, but the little indents could provide for some shelter from the weather for anchored ships, depending on whether or not draft allowed them to enter in the first place.

As expected of the country’s capital, Havana had been built in the largest of those bays, one that dug about two nautical miles inland and provided shelter from all directions. On their charts, they could see how progressive works over the last five hundred years the area had been inhabited had turned the bay into a (very) vaguely star-shaped area with a multitude of quays and piers, small or big for all the ships that plied the Caribbean Island.

It also wasn’t very deep.

Well, it was, but not for vessels of Amandine or Rhine Forest’s tonnage. The latter vessel (the biggest in the fleet by a respectable margin) in particular had to be extremely careful with her maneuver when they made their approach lest she grounded herself on one of the many sandbanks that dotted the bay.

There was little doubt the Cuban government hadn’t been particularly stringent on dredging requirements for their harbors. Embargos and all…

Ultimately, Rhine Forest wouldn’t be able to berth either. Not that was much of a problem: she was a barge carrier, piers were a luxury for vessels of her type, not a necessity. That was what her fleet of auxiliaries was for. She anchored right in the middle of the bay, leaving the other two vessels free to enjoy the shallower parts.

From a country with a reputation as poor and decrepit (at least when compared to their neighbor up north), Havana didn’t look too bad either, given current standards. It hadn’t suffered any kind of storm or hurricanes, so most of the buildings were only slightly more decrepit than they already were when their inhabitants disappeared. It was among the oldest towns you would find in the whole Americas, and it showed.

Just as the convoy entered inside the bay, they were greeted to the sight of the old Spanish forts guarding the fairway, with the lighthouse of Castillo del Morro still standing proud on the eastern side. These were old constructions, with their pale gray, sun-drenched ramparts so thick they could withstand anything from the worst of storms to the might of a British armada. Above the old fortifications, more colorful stonework indicated buildings that had been added over the years: a radio station with a rusting antenna, a few barracks flying tattered Cuban flags, and some brickwork intended to plug some cannon impacts that had marred the walls here and there long before Batista was even a thing.

You could fault Havana for being decrepit, you couldn’t fault it for being poorly defended.

And even then some would argue that wear and tear was what gave the city its charm. The architecture was eclectic, ranging anywhere from colonial architecture, to buildings that mimicked European centers from the 18^th and 19^th century with intricate sculptures and wrought iron balconies, to the ultramodern terminals and skyscrapers that were the hallmark of the budding CBD and tourism industry of modern Cuba. All these styles mixed in a light brown and red mix with the odd vivid highlight of a painted facade and the greenery from the palm trees that lined the seafront.

Even the quays carried the same feeling. Unlike modern ports, they weren’t the grid-pattern, fully linear stuff you’d usually see.It instead showed clear signs of having been extended and expanded over the years to the point where industrial-era warehouses with bolted structures shared the docks with modern gantry cranes and the ground wasn’t sure whether it was supposed to be asphalt or pavement.

Naturally they’d also fared worse than the town. The sea never was very slow at wearing out infrastructure, and already some of the lesser jetties had sunk beneath the waves, along with a plethora of small crafts and harbor tenders that had been empty at the time of the Event. The larger vessels couldn’t be found though. Unsurprisingly so. Past a given size, ships were rarely ever left fully unmanned, and there only needed to be a single person on board to trigger the ‘vehicle effect’.

There was also some great damage, but only to given sections of Havana. The industrial district, directly east of the harbor, for one, was now nothing but a smoldering ruin. The blackened skeleton of the refinery a grim reminder of what could happen to unattended plants, and the damage had spread in all directions for several hundred meters.

So much for reactivating a refinery there. Looks like they’d really have to wait until Mexico for that.

The locals weren’t very tardy in manifesting themselves. A little after Rhine Forest dropped her anchor and the other two ships began approaching a cruise terminal, some colorful blotches emerged out of the cityscape to inspect the new arrivals.

From very close actually. The vast majority of them were either Ornithians or hippogriffs, species that didn’t mind water overly much. Many parrots walked over the water to come and attempt to strike a conversation with them while the hippogriffs had to be coaxed back to the surface lest they actually catch one in their propeller blades.

It was an odd sight really, to see some creatures coming to take a look by walking up to the ship as they were mooring while others hovered in the sky, flicking about from one ship to another.

Out of caution, Dilip had Micha shut down the radar. He could see Alejandro down below on the main deck, his Chief Officer peering over the railing and yelling a couple words in Spanish to ensure the locals kept clear.

“Looks like Chief’s gonna be useful with the locals.” Vadim commented once the griffon overseeing the docking was sure Amandine wouldn’t drift away from the quay.

They and Fugro Symphony had picked the same pier: a relatively recent cruise terminal that jutted out perpendicularly from the shoreline. It was fairly narrow, to the point that the two large ships dwarfed the shorter passenger center between them as they tied up on either side of the pier.

“Of course he is.” Dilip paused and waved to Artyom to tell the bosun to tighten the mooring lines. “He’s the only native Spanish speaker in the entire fleet.”

“Really? Nobody else?”

“Portuguese we got, Italian we got, Spanish? One native speaker, and maybe a few cadets on Rhine who said they took it as an extracurricular once.”

“That’s...” Vadim looked over the numerous locals, the colorful bunch that they were. “… inadequate.”

“Maybe you can hope there are a few tourists in the bunch, or that the locals knew a bit of it to accommodate the tourism industry… but don’t hold your hopes up.” Dilip told the Third Officer. “Now, back to business. Grab the port security checklist. The updated one, not the old ISPS stuff. I want a security perimeter around the ship and I want a roster for guard duty before the ramps are down. No room for the stern ramp, so it’s out the side ramp like in Savannah. Get in contact with Fugro, we’ll see if we can secure the whole pier and terminal. Saves us some manpower. OK?”

“Aye Cap’n.” Vadim nodded firmly.

“Good. Get to it yesterday.” Dilip then turned away from him and walked over to the bridge wing.

Off in the distance, on the seafront facing the pier they were moored at, a neon pink ‘57 Bel Air gleamed in the sunlight. A big burly Ornithian was casually leaning against it, arms crossed.

The WSU had made it to Cuba… and it looked like they’d be busy with the locals for a good while.

When Martin finally woke up to his new life as an Element Bearer, both Rock and Meadow did their level-best to keep things normal for the little fawn. He still went to school with the other kids in the colony, he still followed his lessons under Meadow and Starswirl.

There was just a lingering feeling that something big awaited him. Try as they might to hide it, Martin wasn’t dumb. He knew there was a lot more to the meeting he’d had with Concord than he’d initially thought. He could even feel it within himself, a little tug not too dissimilar to the one he’d quickly assumed was his connection to Cernunnos. And it provided him with some extra power too.

Case in point with Starswirl’s training. The ghost of Merlin had given him what he called a training staff. It wasn’t as intricate as that of the Fay Ladies of Broceliande, let alone that of Merlin himself – which in all likelihood was still held in his tomb-. Instead, his training staff was a piece of enchanted wood Starswirl had retrieved from a sacred grove and improved with a mildly potent core.

He had left the carving down to his apprentice though, and the fawn had been elated when, after several hours of training and meditation trying to tap into the ‘human’ side of his magic, he’d finally managed to lift a pebble.

Fair enough, that wasn’t very impressive given that unicorns could do it a lot more casually, but there was a lot more growth potential to a wizard using human magic than there was to a unicorn sorcerer. Provided there was no magic-related Cutie Mark in play, of course. Plus there was the whole bonus that Martin would also learn potions, druidic rites, and he had his connection to Cernunnos.

Rites that among other things, involved the offerings given to Cernunnos and Broceliande at the castle’s altar. That wasn’t quite as fun for the fawn to learn, albeit no less important given how it regulated the relationship between Trecesson and the forest around the village. A few villagers attended the ceremony to watch the fruit of one harvest be swallowed by the green magical flames after a brief prayer and chant.

They didn’t doubt the necessity of the thing. The glowing green runes on the offering bowl, the holy fire, the blatant magic and the ghost of Merlin near the altar were enough of a proof.

Didn’t make it any less disheartening. To see the fruit of your labor be swallowed by mystic fire to disappear in an ethereal void.

Like taxes.

At least they could boast about all the progress the village was undergoing. The palisade had been completed a couple days ago, a rough but solid wall of pine logs and crudely-fashioned planks that surrounded both the castle and the outbuildings-turned-village. The whole thing was so new you could still smell the freshly-cut pine if you got close enough, a scent that stuck to whichever guard happened to spend his time on post at the watchtower overlooking the outer gates.

The palisade extended further around the farmland as a fence. Not a big one, but sturdy enough to protect the animals and prevent critters from damaging their crops. That was enough to sate their needs, and Rockhoof didn’t expect to need to expand their defenses anytime soon. Not until the village got enough of a population to warrant it anyway.

And if he wanted to do it in the first place, then they’d need to build up their stores and offer enough crops to appease the forest.

“Thinking again, dear?” Meadowbrook asked him as the mare joined Rockhoof on the castle’s rampart.

He could almost swear she was showing a bump now. Along with looking quite a bit younger than when they’d first come to Earth, though that was owed to her potions the same way they’d shaved off a few years on his own end.

“Sort of. I just like to let my mind run after a day’s work. Muscles are sharp, no reason my wits shouldn’t be, don’t you think?”

“Oh these are some sharp muscles I agree.” His wife grinned as she nuzzled in the crook of his neck, her red beehive of a mane tickling the underside of his muzzle. “And what is it you were thinking of?”

“Besides our deal with Cernunnos and the offering at the altar you mean?” He motioned with his head towards the now empty altar in a corner of the courtyard. “I was thinking about the Elements and Concord.”

“I still find it odd that there are seven of them here. What’s wrong with six?”

“One seed doesn’t have to produce the same Elements. The gist of them is still similar to ours too.”

“But Concord and Harmony are two very distinct beings.” Meadow added, looking off into the sunset as she found a comfortable between her stallion’s hooves. “I get that. Concord though...”

“Cut him some slack. How old is he? Two months? Three? That he’s able to manifest himself so soon is a testament to his power. You heard Starswirl.” Rockhoof told her.

“Going by your tone, that’s not what caught your interest.”

“You’re right. It’s not.” He frowned. “I’m mostly wondering about the upcoming bearers and the artifacts.”

“Artifacts?” Meadow repeated. “Do you mean the bearers’ regalia?”

“No. You know Excalibur? Well, guess what: Concord got it into his… is it head or trunk? Anyway...” He huffed. “He wants to gather some ancient human artifacts to boost their power. He has yet to say which, but I caught Starswirl gathering some notes on the stuff to discuss with him.”

“Someone’s being quite enthusiastic about this.”

“You don’t say.” Rockhoof rolled his eyes. “I know Star likes to throw shade at Princess Sparkle for her attitude, but the research spree he’s on… you just feel those two bore the same Element.”

Meadowbrook chuckled lightly.

“No argument there – though I never caught you telling her snout to snout-. And the Bearers?”

“Concord heavily implied that while some are on Earth, others have yet to return. Chiefly: Leadership isn’t here yet an-”

Their discussion was brought to an abrupt halt by the sound of a door being bucked shut in a fit of frustration. Behind them, Miles had just emerged from Starswirl’s tower, the pegasus mare not looking too happy. As one of the guards and Rockhoof’s lieutenants, the American had taken to wearing some medieval armor they salvaged from around the region, a suit of chainmail and a gambeson that she wore under her UCP camo poncho. Holes had been made to fit her wings, along with the addition of a sheath for her .45-70 lever action, and a couple ammo bandoliers and pouches.

A weird mix of both modern and ancient, like much of the village.

Yet the amazing thing was that despite the considerable weight, she could still take to the air. A recent change at that. It had been less than a week since she could actually fly.

“Problem Miles?” Rockhoof left Meadow and called out to his Lieutenant.

“It doesn’t work, that’s what’s the problem!” The mare seethed.

By which he assumed she was referring to Starswirl’s ‘treatment’ of her gender-swapped condition. The unicorn had managed to spare some time to address the issue, though… Permanent transformations were already finicky with just Equestrian magic at hoof, adding human magic into the mix didn’t help.

“You know, he-”

“I know I know.” Miles stopped in a hover and raised a hoof. “It’s only the first try. An actual solution would have been a miracle. Doesn’t help with the mood.”

“So what were his conclusions?”

“Merlin says he has to… I dunno… ‘trick’ my magic into thinking the new stallion form is my true form so it doesn’t revert the changes. Problem is, there are two magics working to revert them, and… it’s complicated. I don’t really get all the magic mumbo-jumbo, you get?”

“The feeling’s familiar. Yes.” Rockhoof acknowledged. “Still, progress is progress. You’ll get your stallionhood back someday.”

“Yeah...” She sagged dejectedly. “Thanks boss. I’m off to Emeric’s. He said he had some contacts on the radio station. Sailors apparently or something. You should check it out sometime.”

“I’ll spare the time. Thanks for the info.”

Miles just made a quick salute with her hoof before she buzzed over towards the castle’s upper floors where his other Lieutenant always kept a window open right next to where the radio antenna poked through the roof.

Still, she was right. News of civilizationis not anything he should ignore.

Author's Notes:

I reckon there is always that bit of difficulty when dealing with the HPI in that while their tech level is beyond present-day, they're still not too far off into the future. And they needed the tech to keep going with a limited gene pool.
_{Lynyrd Skynyrd starts playing in the background.}
Not that way.

Artificial wombs aren't exactly a new concept. In fiction as well as in reality. I recall there have been a few studies into extra-uterine development a couple years ago on lambs. Places the HPI's tech where I want it: a bit of a stretch, but not too far off. Like their exoskeletons.

...

Uh.

I wonder how the HPI'd do with a Zumwalt-class.