Griffintown, Manehatten, Equestria

Gene Flow has been with Pathway Corporation since the beginning. Most don't even know of its existence, and to the outside world it looks like a small medical company. But to those that keep it afloat, they know what it really is, and the pattern follows their rivals at Life Tree. A few thousand bits from overpriced national projects, some bits from medical charities, a little cash from donations by academics and scientists, slush funds from hospitals, pharmacies, salons, eateries, banks and other businesses, and of course a very generous and benign check from the military to pay for medical supplies.

In all actuality, not even the Royal Family knows of their existence, which is just the way Pathway and their investors like it. Secrecy has allowed them to do what they do and to sow the fields to their liking. That said, the trouble with secrecy is that it is hard to keep it. One wrong move coupled with an observant eye and everything can be unraveled, which is why Gene has been dreading this day.

Gene pushes open the door to a simple eatery and looks around for his contact. Him being a light blue unicorn stallion with a two toned white and green mane makes him an obvious unusual guest in the room full of griffins. Not even his dark suit, bulky saddle and hat can hide the fact that he does not belong, but at least his coat is long enough to hide his DNA shaped cutie mark, so he at least has that going for him.

As Gene looks at the crowd of various shades of brown and gray sitting at simple tables with wobbly ceiling fans spaced unevenly around the lobby, a familiar voice calls him.

“Gene, over here!” hollers a griffin with sandy fur and dark brown feathers sitting in the corner and waving at him.

Gene looks at the griffin, and after he waves again Gene releases an irritated sigh and walks towards his contact. The griffin is finishing off the last of a steak sitting in a pool of sauce in his plate, and next to him are two more empty plates with crumbs, vegetable bits and a thin layer of cheese sauce, plus an empty cup. However, Gene's eyes are locked on the slab of meat that is being cut up by the griffin. It is making his stomach churn, despite him spending all morning trying to prepare for the meeting.

Gene has to take a moment to regain his breath after witnessing the griffin slice off another piece of the steak. Thin streaks of red run out and dribble on the plate, and when the griffin motions him to sit using his knife he removes the saddle bag from his harness and puts it next to his seat. Immediately a young waitress griffin comes over, with a pad and pen at the ready.

“Chip said you would come. Right on time, too,” says the waitress with a well practiced smile and playful tone.

Gene shoots a condemning look at the griffin, Chip Off.

“Did he?” says Gene.

“I did,” says Chip. “Bring my friend a sweet tea and a garden salad. These ponies can't handle real food.”

The waitress scribbles the information down and leaves with a lively speed, and Gene watches her until he can no longer turn his head before looking back at Chip. The griffin is chewing the last of his steak and he points at Gene's hat with his knife.

“You going for a secret agent look?” asks Chip.

“You shouldn't have called my name,” says Gene. “Much less told anybody I would be here.”

“Relax, nobody knows who you are. But-” Chip yanks off Gene's hat “-dressing like a secret agent will draw some attention.”

Gene uses his magic to yank his hat away from Chip, bringing the griffin to shake his head and start stacking his plates.

“Lighten up,” says Chip.

“This is very serious business we are doing, and we are doing it in a stupid place.”

Chip lays the cup sideways on the stack of plates. “How many times will I have to tell you to relax? And where's the money?”

Gene nudges his saddle toward Chip, which is quickly snatched up and inspected.

“Twenty nine thousand five hundred bits worth of Equestrian trusted notes,” says Gene while Chip pulls out a wad of tightly bound bills and runs his talons through them. “You will get another two thousand for each viable embryo.”

Chip tosses the wad down and inspects another one.

“You will get them all,” says Chip.

“They have to be in perfect condition when we get them. Anything less will be useless to us,” says Gene.

Chip tosses the bills back, zips up the bag and puts it on his lap.

“You will get them,” says Chip. “But the boat has to be on time at the location we discussed, not a minute later or earlier.”

The waitress returns with a tray carrying a prepacked salad and a cup of sweet tea heavy on the ice, and the two smile politely at her as she sets the items down, plus a receipt and takes the stack of dishes. After she leaves their smiles disappear and they lock eyes again, only this time Gene is levitating a blue and white striped can of Flim Flam Dye Gel from his other saddle.

“This will store the embryos for up to thirty six hours,” says Gene. He unscrews the bottom, pulls out a small circular rack and pushes a small button at the top that splits the slots to add a second layer, which when he does that the device makes a quick and sharp screech. “It can hold up to twelve and it can get past customs.”

He closes the slots, screws the device back into its case and gives it to Chip, who them sprays a glob of light blue gel on his hand. He looks at the gel for a moment before grabbing a napkin next to Gene's salad and wipes his hand off.

“That makes my job a lot easier,” says Chip while tossing the napkin back to Gene's side and ignoring the frown he got from the stunt.

“It was the easiest and best way to get them. But how do you plan on getting around the security?” asks Gene.

“I have my ways. Just make sure the boat is on the Eastern Dock, seven in the morning sharp,” says Chip. He stands up, tosses the can in his bag of money, clips the bag to his saddle, and then puts on a black hat and walks past Gene so he can pat him on the shoulder. “Bill is yours. Don't forget to tip the lady.”

Gene watches Chip weave his way between the tables, and when he exits the restaurant Gene looks at the receipts, then shakes his head and slumps in his seat.

“That son of a bitch.”

Next Chapter: 04 Estimated time remaining: 1 Hour, 27 Minutes