Lawrence looks at the map before him, a frown deeply etched into his face. Colored glass pins decorate it, and when the light catches them, the whole thing seems to glow. Lawrence only wishes the reality were so pretty. The vermillion pins, for active Recon ships, surround the islands in a near perfect circle, only one or two out of place. In a few hours, they’ll all have to be moved, outwards, as they advance on their patrol areas.

Ever since that boat up north was spotted, things have been hectic, to say the least, and this is quite possibly the first chance he’s had to breathe in hours. The black pin that represents the Crow is hovering over island, and he’s just waiting for a call from Polly to confirm his mission’s success so that he can send the captain out to look into some strange weather reports from eastern Ijask.

Deep turquoise blue, almost cerulean, pins are scattered across the Islands, none of the Fighters informed of the potential threat quite yet. A collection of them, along side a handful of crisp, white medical pins, are settled deep in the heart of Nyander, and Lawrence knows they’re there to deal with a Fairy Tales outbreak in a mountain town, and destroy both the forest it sprang from and the river that carried it; this will be the eighteenth forest in the past three years that has been contaminated and destroyed, and the thirty-second river. He can’t help but feel that if they don’t figure this out soon, there’ll be nothing left of the Islands to defend, and no matter how sensationalist he knows that is, it just disturbs him that this thing avoids every attempt to contain it, sidesteps every potential cure.

Yawning, he rubs his eyes, and wishes there was time for him to get even just an hour of sleep. But no, he’s waiting for confirmation from Polly, a call from Banse’s base commander, and then he has to redirect a few Fighter ships up north, to be in position to strike should the Rak find anything more than just a off course civilian vessel.

Of course, they don’t really have much to go on in determining that. There isn’t a lot of hard data on their neighbors, and Lawrence couldn’t say for sure what their technology is capable of. This unknown craft has been marked on his map in an alarming red, almost heart stopping in its violent, blood like glare, and it represents the possibility of war.

The known cities of Mettos, Aranek, and Scalya, their nearest neighbors, are marked in yellow, and are far and few between. There is only one Lawrence has ever seen for himself, Carus, Aranek, and honestly, he wasn’t impressed. It was a port town, and therefore should have been bustling, but even in low summer, a traditionally heavy business time, people had been scarce. Also, parts of it were a shambles; back alleyways were dank and rotting, outskirt buildings were abandoned, streets were rough and uneven. Their second day there, back when he captained Magyi, his lieutenant and weapons assist were mauled on their way back from a morning market. Once they got their bearings they were fine, and Turner hadn’t needed to shake the ground beneath their attackers’ feet even a little.

After that, though, they all stuck closer to Magyi, and, when they had to venture out, traveled in packs.

He had mentioned the incident in their next meeting with the city chief, questioned him as to why they hadn’t been warned, and was met with surprise. Apparently, such things were normal there.

It had taken all his self control not to gather his men and book it right out of there.

Of course, a lot could change in 10 years, so probably he should give them the benefit of the doubt.

The green comms light blinked on, and Lawrence settled into the plush chair behind the board, and retrieved the headset.

“Commander Lawrence, Frevent, Abevri.”

“Commander, its Captain Polly.”

“Proceed, captain.”

“We’re done here, sir. John Vincent has been neutralized, and released.”

“He survived then.”

“Mhm. Pity, I know, but he was a weakling sir. I have a better connection with animals.”

“That scar on your left arm begs to differ.”

“Rabid animals don’t count.”

“Right. Do you think he could pose any further threat?”

“Need I remind you what his ‘war cry’ was?”

“Please, I just ate.”

“We left him in the capable hands of the town public hospital. They said probably he’ll be released in a day or two. From there, god only knows what he’ll do, and really, only god could care; this guy’s scum.”

“Sounds good to me. And sorry, but you guys aren’t going to be able to take a break quite yet. For one thing, the weather in Banse is a nightmare, the chance you’d be able to land—”

“Dude, I’m weather.”

“…Sorry. Okay, well, you still can’t drop off in Banse. I need you guys to fly up to Eastern Ijask; they’re reporting a warm front moving in off the Adic Sea. A real warm front, like you would expect on Banse this time of year, as opposed to the wind sheers they’re dealing with.”

“Hang on, wind sheers on Banse, you said?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

“Nothing I guess; it just sounds like the weather patterns have flip-flopped. This time of year, Central and Eastern Ijask should be experiencing high grade wind sheers off the Adic. Obviously, that’s impossible, though.”

“You’re the weather expert.”

“…Could you have the Weather Center look into something for me, actually?”

“Sure, but why don’t you contact them yourself? I’m sure you could explain what you want far better than I could.”

“Ah, well, they don’t like me very much. They don’t like any of us very much, really.”

“Can’t say I blame them…”

“Ha ha ha. But could you have them look and see if there are any other weathers out there we’re missing? Some new potential we haven’t noticed?”

“Can they do that?”

“Definitely. All potential shows up on their boards. They can’t pinpoint their location, but they can give us the general idea. Weather shows up as kind of a midnight blue, I think. There should only be three marks that color; me, Luke, and Fiona. If there are any others… Well, we have a problem.”

“You think that’s what could be causing this?”

“Could be. They’d have to be fairly strong though.”

“I’ll have them look into it.”

“Thanks. Probably you better not tell them it’s for me.”

“Right… You worry me.”

“Don’t blame me for their bitterness!”

“Bye, Sam. Check in when you’re on the Yaltic if you don’t hear from me before then.”

“Alright, sir. Thank you.”

Previous: Scene 4-V

Scene 4-VI

Next: Scene 4-VII