Date Point: 14y AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, The Far Reaches
Admiral Sir Patrick Knight
“So whatever happens will happen without Daar.”
The HEAT was loading up in its entirety under the sharp attention of Lieutenant Costello and, perhaps more significantly, the stentorian voice of Master Sergeant Vandenberg. Techs, Gear, supplies and the Operators themselves were packing into a Weaver like it was a clown car.
Admiral Knight hadn’t suffered from an instant’s doubt or hesitation in giving that order. Every spaceborne asset stationed at Cimbrean was mobilizing, and he’d eat his golden epaulettes if the same wasn’t happening at Malmstrom Air Force Base in Montana, where the USAF’s 946th Spaceflight wing was parked.
Caruthers nodded solemnly. He’d been promoted to Rear Admiral only two months earlier, on the back of a so-far exemplary record of commanding the fleet ‘at sea.’ “We don’t have a jump beacon out there,” he said, “and the fastest ship we can spare would need two weeks to reach him.”
Champion Meereo ears were a display of anguish. “Admiral, we need Daar! Without him, Stoneback—”
“Will do what Stoneback does,” Regaari said, calmly. He was present in his role as the most senior of the SOR’s Gaoians and an influential officer of his Clan, not as a sergeant. And in Knight’s view he’d done an admirable job of restoring his poise after his justified frustration at narrowly missing the scheduled jump. There was ice in those Whitecrest veins. “Forgive me, Champion Meereo, but Clan Stoneback won’t roll on their back and surrender just because their Champion is absent. They have a clear line of succession in place. Daar would not accept anything less.”
“However much we might need him,” Caruthers stated firmly, “retrieving him is simply impossible.”
“Could be for the best anyway,” Powell opined. “He’s a bloody icon of his Clan. He might be more useful in the aftermath than in the actual fight.”
“That’s enough about Daar,” Knight said firmly. “What do we have?”
“Genshi is in Wi Kao city,” Meereo recalled. “Ever since the Conclave of Champions he has been busy. Officer Regaari, if you have any insight into his actions…”
“We’re aware of BIG HOTEL infiltration in Whitecrest’s ranks,” Regaari said. “Over the last three years the Brothers and Fathers involved have been carefully isolated and controlled. Champion Genshi’s first act in response to this will probably be to sanitize them.”
“Good,” Knight nodded. “What else? The females?”
“We have a trusted asset in place at the Mother-Supreme’s side. Green, and briefed on DEEP RELIC. The Mother-Supreme herself is still Green, too. Our efforts to cleanse Clans One-Fang and Firepaw on the other hand haven’t been so successful…” Regaari admitted.
“Meaning the Gaoian fleet’s like as not to be crippled by BIG HOTEL action before the shooting even starts,” Powell summarized.
“Assuming they don’t turn and join the swarm. The Racing Thunder is safe at this point but that’s only because Father Yefrig has encouraged his crew to remove their implants. The rest of the fleet is suspect and the same goes for ground forces. We don’t have a unified military.”
“It hardly makes a difference either way,” Caruthers pointed out. “Even if they were a unified, seasoned force with not an implant between them, the Swarm of Swarms would swat them aside anyway.”
“Damn and…fucking blast,” Knight swore quietly. “We aren’t ready. Go to war with the army you have be damned, the army we have is…” he reined it in. “…We need an alternative. If we put a Football in place around the planet, how long would it last?”
“A Firebird could have one around Gao inside the hour,” Caruthers said. “But with every Clan compromised on some level or another, it wouldn’t have a snowflake’s chance in Hell of staying up for long.”
Regaari duck-nodded. “The ground-to-orbit defence coverage is too comprehensive.”
“Then we need to disable the planet’s own defenses to defend it,” Knight shook his head at the irony. “Can it be done?”
All eyes trained on Meereo.
“Well…yes. We could disable communications across the planet. But it would need to be a total thing, because setting up selective filters leaves too many holes. All or nothing.”
“We can rebuild smashed infrastructure,” Regaari declared.
“If…” Meereo was clearly distressed. “I do not think you understand the depth of what I am suggesting. This isn’t messaging and mating-grams, Regaari. This will affect safety of life systems. Food distribution. Emergency communications. ALL of it.”
“I’ll take global infrastructure collapse over extinction, Champion.”
“We’re so dependent on…The two may be distressingly similar.”
“So long as they aren’t identical.”
“How much time would it buy us?” Knight asked, urgently.
“Taking the network down permanently is…It can be done. But the instant we do, we will be in a disaster relief situation with…three days until things collapse in their entirety.”
“…That’s all?”
“Food in modern societies is just-in-time delivered. And very few of the Gao have emergency supplies. The more practical workhouses might…but not more than a week. After that, we run out of clean water, sewerage…”
“The alternative,” Regaari repeated, “Is what happened to the Guvnurag.”
Powell grunted. “We know, Regaari…And unless there’s a better option, Champion…?”
Meereo’s ears wilted, lowered, then drooped right down to lie flat down the back of his head. “…I can’t think of one.”
“Bitter medicine it is, then,” Knight declared. “Powell. Flash message to Champion Genshi. Tell him GAMETIME is in the fourth quarter.”
“Aye, aye.” Powell nodded and made tracks for the communications center.
“Caruthers—I’m coming with. I’ll be travelling with the Fleet Intelligence Centre aboard Myrmidon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Champion Meereo…whatever we need to achieve this, please provide it. Sergeant Regaari, you should rejoin your squad and—Yes, Sister Niral?”
Niral had abandoned all pretense of Gaoian civilization in her bustling around the base. The young intelligence analyst had reverted to four-paw running just like the males, and had even resorted to carrying her tablet in her mouth—a sure sign that she understood perfectly just how dire things really were.
She reared to her feet and plucked the tablet from between her teeth.
“You…may want to see this, Admiral,” she declared, and handed it over.
Knight took it and frowned at the screen.
<:-)>
Date Point: 14y AV
Planet Akyawentuo, Unclaimed Space, Near 3Kpc Arm
Master Sergeant Derek “Boss” Coombes
“Of course the ‘Drunk on Turkey’ has weapons! It’s mine, ain’t it?”
Daar and Daniel Hurt were having a ‘perfectly civil’ disagreement, and Coombes had to admit that Daniel was doing impressively well considering that he was arguing with somebody who had the prominent muscles of a trained pitbull and the rough size of a forest bear.
Daniel wasn’t being unreasonable, but he really wasn’t pleased that their ship was loaded for war.
“What kind of weapons?” he demanded.
“Nothin’ massive,” Daar placated. “Two gauss guns.”
“How big?”
“One eight megajoule, one two hundred kilojoule.”
Those numbers got an impressed whistle from Allison. When everybody looked at her she took off her sunglasses and hooked them into her collar. “That’s about as big as a tank gun and an autocannon,” she explained. “Respectively.”
Walsh laughed. “Damn, Tigger!”
“Ain’t nothin’ massive,” Daar said, sounding disappointed. “I wanted a forty megajoule but the engineers said no.”
“What you brung should be more than enough to handle Abrogators,” Hoeff said.
“And we were gonna smash ‘em anyway,” Coombes pointed out. “Makes no difference to me if we do it with C4 or aerial attack.”
“Nothing massive, sure,” Daniel agreed. “But it’s not exactly a potato gun either.”
Daar duck-nodded, more soberly than usual. “Look, professor. I get ‘yer point, but reality don’t much care for our philosophy. I’d rather spend all day mating and working too but sometimes, violence needs doin’.”
Daniel sighed. “I know. Hell, you’re preaching to the choir—”
“Especially with the mating part,” Walsh chipped in.
“Prof, you got kids?” Daar asked it suddenly, and genuinely.
“Grown and successful,” Daniel nodded. “Why?”
“Well…it ain’t exactly the same with us…but all my cubs? I don’t wanna see a world where they ain’t got any prospects, or hope, or, y’know. A reason.”
“Daar,” Daniel laid his hand on the big Gaoian’s arm warmly. “I understand. Really I do. I just wish you’d told me you had them so I’d’ve had plenty of time to think about how to…” he trailed off and waved his hand toward the curious crowd of Ten’Gewek who were watching.
“I got my reasons ‘fer not sayin’ anything. It ain’t personal, but…”
“Fair enough. I’ll adapt.”
Daar slapped Daniel on the back hard enough to almost knock him over. “Spoken like a Stoneback! And so will they! But right now…c’mon Boss, we’ve got some overgrown nava t’kill.”
Coombes nodded. “Hoeff, Walsh, you stay here, watch out for everyone. And get emplaced, ‘cuz I bet BIG HOTEL won’t like us breaking their toys.”
Walsh didn’t need a second word. “Yan. Can I ask for your help, please?” he asked.
Handling the Given-Man with respect had been drummed into them hard. Yan was well-disposed to them, but he was still a chieftain—here on his tribe’s home ground, his authority demanded deference.
Yan nodded solemnly, and followed him towards the Drunk on Turkey.
Daniel watched them go with a tense expression. He looked like a man doing some hard thinking, and who didn’t like his conclusions.
“Somethin’ the matter, Professor?” Coombes asked him.
“…The situation here has apparently been stable for more than a year,” Daniel replied. “But the moment we arrive…”
“I know. We arrive and our guardian angel fucks off. Can’t be a coincidence.”
“I wonder what happened?”
Heavy footsteps on the *Drunk on Turkey*’s ramp heralded Walsh’s return with a pair of M240s comfortably over his shoulders, and a massive assault pack on his back. Yan was swaggering alongside him carrying three ammo boxes with each arm and a seventh balanced on his shoulders, steadied by his tail.
Coombes watched the walking firepower go past, and found some dark humor in it.
“…Maybe she decided we don’t need her no more,” he said.
Walsh paused and shrugged the weapons more securely onto his shoulders. “Hoeff! Think you can emplace up in a tree?”
“Always wanted to!”
“Good. Take this.” He handed one of the machine guns to Hoeff. “Spare barrels are hanging off the bottom of my pack.” Hoeff took those, along with three cans of ammo. “Yan and I gotta dig a nice little hole over…there.” Walsh pointed with his chin towards a rise in the terrain with good overhead cover and line-of-sight into the clearing. Hoeff nodded, gestured at Vemik who came bounding over, and pointed toward a convenient tree with an overlapping field of fire.
“What about us?” Xiù asked, gesturing to Allison, Julian and herself. Coombes suppressed an internal sigh—he’d been slightly dreading this part.
“…I want Misfit aloft. Get your asses into orbit, maybe even put down on one of the moons and be ready to rabbit,” Coombes told her. “If this all goes south then Command need to know.”
The trio glanced at one another, then back at him. He explained before any of them could query him.
“Look…We hafta assume that BIG HOTEL have satellite coverage across this shit. Now we know they’re active, or gonna be active, and to a satellite Misfit is gonna stick out like a giant chunk of steel and radioisotopes where there shouldn’t be one. Maybe we can disguise the village—Ain’t no way we can disguise a ship.”
“What about the jump array?” Xiù asked. “And the concrete foundations we laid down? Won’t those stand out too?”
“Yeah, but they’re expendable and they’re less of a juicy target. A couple’a concrete foundations would probably just get stepped on by abrogators. Misfit could invite anything up to a nuke or a Rod From God. And then there’s wormhole suppression, air interception if you try and take off…” he ticked off on his fingers. “The only smart play here is to sideline your ship, and that means sidelining you. And yeah, I know it sucks and I’d hate it too, but it’s happening. Don’t argue with me on this.”
As he’d known she would, Allison looked as though she wanted to educate Coombes on the finer points of Bostonian vernacular. ‘Looked as though’ was where it stopped, however: Instead she sighed, nodded and tried to relax. “It…I hate it, but that all makes sense,” she agreed.
Julian glanced back at the two emplacements behind him. “You fellas aren’t fully covered, though. If you and Daar are going up in one ship and we’re going away in the other…That doesn’t leave a lot here to protect the People.”
“I know. We need a rifle covering that stream bed to the north,” Coombes agreed, “And frankly…Your ship needs its pilot and engineer, but it can do without its field researcher for this.”
“Back the fuck up—!”
Patience was a virtue Coombes had long since mastered, but in this case he didn’t need it. Julian put a hand on Allison’s shoulder and stopped her mid-outburst. “Babe. No. They need me and I’m almost as good a shot as you. And I can climb.”
“…I can handle being sidelined, but—!”
He reached over and pulled her into his arms. “I know.”
Even this didn’t seem to bring her down, until Xiù, who had gone pale and still and silent, reached out and took Allison’s hand.
The three of them had to be psychic with one another or something. They seemed to have a whole conversation that lasted all of two seconds and consisted entirely of eye contact. Whatever they said to each other, Allison finally sagged and took a protective step to Xiù’s side.
“…Fuck.”
Time to move on. “…Right. Look, your boy knows what he’s doin’ and all of this is just precaution anyway. If we’re lucky we won’t even get drones. We’ve got fancy satcom radios too, so everyone can stay in touch…”
“And what am I doing?” Daniel asked, tactfully and from a safe distance.
“You’re gonna explain all this, as best you can. I don’t want the natives freakin’ out over how we just fuck off suddenly. Talk with Yan if you can but don’t get in the way. Walsh is gonna need him up in their little nest.”
“…Coombes, bringing our weapons here is one thing, but if you’re suggesting he should help load and fire it—!”
“Yes. I am suggesting exactly that. We’ll worry about the consequences when we’re all alive to worry. And in any case, all he’s gonna be doing is handling ammo belts and being a second set of eyes. It’ll take him about two minutes to learn and it’s not exactly advanced combat skills.”
“I thought you said this is a precaution.”
“Yeah, well. No plan survives first contact.”
“Daniel…they’ve seen our spaceships land, they’ve seen the jump array, they’ve seen my shotgun in action before…” Allison pointed out. “We’re not coming here fresh. The damage is already done.”
“Machine guns from prepared positions seems like an escalation.”
“They’re smart enough to see that. These people are a long way off stupid, Daniel. And they aren’t made of glass, neither.”
Daniel gave them both a knowing, sorrowful look. “It’s the fact that they’re so intelligent which creates the problem,” he said. “They aren’t fragile, you’re right. But their culture is.”
Coombes gave him an annoyed look. “Look, Professor. I know you’re smarter than me and all that, but right now I don’t give a fuck because lives are on the line. Do what you’re told: I’ll be appropriately contrite later.”
“…Very well.” Daniel grimaced, flapped his hands awkwardly against his sides in a kind of resigned shrug, and went to find the Singer.
That just left Allison, Julian and Xiù still standing around and holding hands.
“Well?” Coombes told them. “You know what you’re supposed to be doin’, jump to!”
The trio glanced at each other, nodded, and booked it back toward their ship. No doubt they’d take a few moments of together time before grabbing the ammo and spinning up the jump, but Coombes wasn’t totally heartless. Urgent as things were, he’d let them have it.
He took a moment to look around and take stock. The natives sure as shit weren’t dumb, Allison had got that right. They got the meaning and decamped to the trees while Yan, Vemik, and Vemet got a crash course in radios, lines of fire, and how belt-fed, crew served weapons were used. He could hear shouts and whistled down in the valley as the news spread from encampment to encampment, and a few of the nearer ones even seemed to be packing up and bugging out.
Of course, they’d fled once before, hadn’t they? Hell, maybe spreading things out a bit more couldn’t hurt.
”Boss. You comin’?”
Daar was bringing the Drunk On Turkey online, and the kinetic thrusters were making that edge-of-hearing electric whine that sounded a heck of a lot like a compressor spinning up. The time had come to get aboard and get to shooting. With luck, they could end the threat quickly, and all of this was going to be unnecessary.
But Coombes really didn’t believe in luck any more.
Date Point: 14y AV
HMS Sharman (HMNB Folctha), Cimbrean, the Far Reaches
Admiral Sir Patrick Knight
“So what you’re saying is that the Hierarchy have wormhole beacons all over the planet.”
The tablet pinged and the green tick appeared again, then qualified with an icon depicting a planet, another depicting stars, and the round purple-and-black swirly thing that Knight had deduced was the…Entity’s…choice for depicting a wormhole.
“On the ground and in orbit?”
Tick.
“And these are…independent of the planetary communications network.”
Tick.
Skull.
“Is there any way to neutralize them?”
The Entity seemed to have a frustratingly disjointed approach to conversation. Wherever it could, it used an emoticon. Where it couldn’t, it used a kind of limping mish-mash of words in couplets. And every so often, when it got frustrated, suddenly it would write a perfectly coherent sentence with no clear rhyme or logic apparent as to why it didn’t just do that all the time.
A trio of icons—a planet, a radio mast and a wrench—popped onto the screen.
“…Modify the communications network?”
Tick.
“How?”
Radio mast.
Wormhole.
…Bug spray?
Knight gave up on that one. “…Any idea what that means?” he asked.
“It’s…suggesting that we could modify part of the communications network into a wormhole suppressor. I think.”
Tick.
“Can we do that?”
“Not if we smash the whole thing.”
The tablet pinged again – an exclamation mark.
“We have to,” Knight told it.
Question mark.
“Our orbital assets need the ground defence stations offline.”
Loading icon.
Ellipsis.
Tick.
Planet.
Radio mast.
Explosion.
Plus sign.
A word, now: <Lavmuy>.
Space shuttle.
A wormhole and a test tube.
A wormhole and bug spray.
An equation. A long, complicated and impenetrable one that Knight simply wasn’t equipped to understand.
“…Champion Meereo?”
The Longear took the tablet and his ears swivelled as he read, before slowly folding backward onto his scalp.
“A…Oh. Hm. Yes. …Shit.”
“Is there a problem?” Knight asked him.
“This is…It seems one of my Clan’s secrets isn’t so secret.” Meereo cleared his throat. “Ah…yes. We have an experimental wormhole facility at Lavmuy spaceport.”
Regaari duck-nodded. “Project Farthrow, yes? You’re experimenting with single-end wormholes.”
Meereo sagged. “Who—?”
“Gentlemen, might I suggest that the matter of Clan espionage is for another time?” Knight prompted, gently. Meereo duck-nodded and rallied.
“…Seven years ago, one of Clan Highmountain’s foremost mathematicians discovered an alternate solution to the wormhole tuning equation which…hm.” He paused, thought, and obviously decided that laying some groundwork was in order. “Ordinarily, when you attempt to open a wormhole, the far end will emerge at entirely random coordinates in spacetime unless you have a beacon. The larger the event horizon’s surface area, the greater the uncertainty. And, because we’re talking about all of spacetime here, the uncertainty scales at a simply incredible rate. A wormhole as big as a photon would most likely appear in intergalactic space. The receiving end can be anywhere in the universe, at any point in the past or future.”
“I’m familiar with the science,” Knight agreed. The need for a wormhole generator to be paired with a receiving beacon was absolutely at the core of interstellar logistics.
“Father Refyek proved that, mathematically at least, it is possible for a wormhole to have a surface area of exactly zero,” Meereo explained. “Meaning you could generate a single-ended wormhole on a precise target of your choosing. Project Farthrow is our attempt to generate such a wormhole. If we can actually do it, it would revolutionize interstellar communications. It might even enable intergalactic communication and travel!”
“Could it be adapted into our suppressor?” Knight asked, making a mental note to tell SCERF about that one.
“Easily. It would…ruin the experiment and set the research back almost to first principles…” Meereo hesitated, then hung his head. “But it’s better than extinction.”
The tablet pinged enthusiastically: it was full of green ticks.
Knight couldn’t resist a dry smile. “Well. Our Spiritus Ex Machina seems to approve,” he observed.
“Then we have our mission briefings,” Caruthers surmised. “Can communications be disrupted from the Farthrow facility?”
“No. The network is robust, we would need to seize…” Meereo counted on his paws quickly, then gave up. “…numerous key facilities all over the planet. All of them are NOCs and can quickly assume control of the local networks.”
“Dozens? Hundreds?”
“Dozens.”
“And they have to be seized? We couldn’t just obliterate them with RFG strikes?”
Meereo contained a sigh. “The network doesn’t die if you kill its management stations, you just lose control of it. No, we need to control those systems, and we deliberately designed it so it would be…difficult to do so remotely.”
“We need marines, then.”
“We need Stoneback, and all of their Fangs.”
“Insufficient,” Regaari jerked his head. “Stoneback has three Fangs at full strength, their Champion is absent, and our assessment of his second is…” He hesitated. “I…I would not presume to second-guess Daar’s business, but we do know that something transpired between him and Brother Tyal of the First Fang, and now Champion Daar’s efforts have focused strongly on Brother Fiin.”
“So the primary local asset is undermanned and in the grip of a leadership crisis,” Caruthers summarized.
“I think…confidence crisis would be best. Tyal is physically impressive and highly skilled, but he no longer has…boldness. You’ve met Fiin. He is resolute and aggressive like Daar, but he is still young and growing so his presence isn’t as…compelling.”
“How many stations could Stoneback realistically take by themselves?”
“Realistically they could take six, if we split their Fangs. But…we have another problem—they won’t be able to. They will be utterly focused on defending the Females, and it would take Daar to persuade them that this operation would achieve that end better.”
Knight nodded. “I’ve heard enough—this is a job for human paratroopers. HEAT will secure the Farthrow facility. Control over planet-wide wormhole suppression is vital to our line of supply. Once we’ve secured that facility, we can jump array over all the planes, helicopters, men and tanks we could ask for.”
Colonel Miller spoke up. As the liaison between the SOR and the USAF, he was generally content to remain silent and alert, which meant that his rare intervention in the conversation carried weight. “It’s a plan,” he agreed, “but authorizing it will have to go right to the top, Admiral—this is an Allied concern. The sooner the President is briefed, the sooner he can order a recall of The XVIII Airborne Corps. And…everything else.”
“Tremblay will already have called an emergency meeting with the heads of state,” Knight assured him. “So unless they’ve all taken leave of their senses in the last few hours…I’ve had the pleasure of many conversations with President Sartori, and with the PM. They’ll rise to the occasion. Meanwhile, we’re going to prepare as if their go-ahead is a given, not sit around and wait for it. Caruthers, the fleet is in your hands. Miller, if you’d be so kind as to relay our strategy to Tremblay and find out how the 946th are doing?”
Miller nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Sergeant Regaari, you should return to your unit. Champion Meereo, I think you should go with him…” Knight looked down at the tablet in his hand. “And as for *you*…”
A bright red question mark filled the screen.
“…Thank you. I don’t know what more we can ask you to do. I suppose the only thing I can ask is that you help where you can.”
The Entity replied using a tick mark and, to Knight’s amusement, a shamrock.
“…Yes. Good luck to you, as well.”
The tablet’s screen blanked and returned to normal functions, and it was alarming how clearly Knight knew that he was holding a mere computer again, rather than…well, a person.
“Good luck to us all,” he added.
Date Point: 14y AV
Whitecrest Clan Enclave, Wi Kao City, planet Gao
Champion Genshi
Genshi’s communicator was a heavily customized piece of equipment bolstered by the absolute clawtip of Gaoian machine learning to prioritize and filter his messages and schedule. Usually, he let it do its job and relied upon it to pass through messages according to its own decision-making process.
There were only three classes of message that he had specifically configured an exemption for: All three could blitz through the filter unscrutinized, all three had a custom sound effect to let him know he had just received them, and all three were up there among the kind of messages he hoped never to receive.
Just hearing the distinctive sharp buzz was enough to raise his pulse and flatten his ears.
ZKZK VRTZZ00 DE ORQ31TV F 292527Z-GAO SEP FM STAINLESS/[email protected]// TO OFC THE CHAMPION WC/[email protected]/ BEEKEEPER/[email protected]/ RINGMASTER/[email protected]// INFO TEMPLAR/[email protected]/ OFC THE PM/[email protected]/ POTUS/[email protected]// T O P S E C R E T SAR-DEEP-RELIC SI-GAMMA ORCON REL FVEY GAO-WC BT SUBJ/(U) GAMETIME-FOOTBALL-4 QUARTER// (U) WARNING: This message contains GAMMA COMINT of an extremely sensitive nature.
(TS//SAR-DR/SI-G//OC) TEMPLAR reports GAMETIME is in the final quarter. SIGINT indicates imminent BIG HOTEL/RIDLEY attack on DISNEYLAND. GAMMA sources indicate massive fleet movements, estimate strike within a few days. Recommend immediate action.
(TS//SAR-DR//OC) TIGGER out of contact, will not be available for initial event. All effort will be made to ensure availability as soon as possible.
(TS//SAR-DR//OC) The full resources available to AEC are available and at your disposal. AEC appoints you the on-scene commander until TIGGER is available.
(TS//SAR-DR//OC) [attachment: briefing.pdf] CL BY: OCA-SCA-CONTROL; REASON: 1.4(a,d); DECL: 75X1
“Fyu’s fury…” It was exactly as bad as he’d feared. Worse, even. The attack was coming before Whitecrest was properly ready, and without Daar there to direct Stoneback’s Fangs things were shaved even closer to the skin.
“Is…something the matter, Champion?”
Genshi had been talking business with Father Eyun. One of Whitecrest’s unaugmented majority, but a skeptic of Regaari’s, Genshi had been soothing the younger male’s ruffled fur and reassuring him that a Champion’s loyalty was always to the Clan.
The fact that Eyun felt he needed to question that rather proved for Genshi why his advancement had halted where it was. Still, right now—especially now—he needed every ally he could muster, and even then…
“…Brother…” Genshi sprang to his feet. “I need you to deliver a message in person to Grandfather Kureya of Clan Highmountain. For his ears only.”
Eyun’s ears twitched into a bewildered posture for just a second, but he stood as well, listening intently. “Of course, Champion.”
Genshi’s pawprint unlocked the safe in the back wall of his office, and he handed Eyun a sealed box. “Hand him this, ask him about the skull that his predecessor Grandfather Talo showed me, and tell him that GAMETIME is in the final quarter. End of message.”
“…Yes, Champion.”
“Time is short, Brother.”
Eyun needed no further prompting. He duck-nodded, turned, and flowed out of the room with all the speedy grace that was becoming of a Whitecrest. Genshi gave a brief moment of thanks to the universe in general that he had people he could rely on right now, and then turned to retrieve the other item from the safe.
Whitecrest had a great many secrets, and none of them could be allowed to fall into enemy hands. It was time to purge the ranks.