The Contract

The descent from the clouds leaves Skai feeling as if of his organs are going to pop from his mouth. As Skai hurls into the complimentary puke bag, his ribs feel like they are going to snap and his vertebrae disconnect from how hard he is bending over. When he is done vomiting, the bag is at its limit with mushy crackers and cheap alcohol, and he wheezes for air, tying the bag good and tight, and then he look around without a clue where to put it. The passengers and attendants staring at him are not making things any easier, either, and the dozens of eyes on him put a very uncomfortable heat in his cheeks.

Skai swallows and triple ties his bag, trying to smile, but his lips barely twitch, and when a unicorn stewardess comes by and offers to take the bag, he gladly gives it to her. Once she has it, she grimaces and quickly walks away with the bag held a hoof's length away from her.

“I have never seen a griffin get sick from flying before,” says Ribbon Wishes.

“It has been a while since I have flown,” says Skai, his voice airy and his head feeling just as light.

Ribbon Wishes pats his leg. “Well, don't you worry. I won't tell anyone.”

Skai glares at her and she quickly retracts her hoof and looks away, biting her lip and flushing with embarrassment, all while Bright Wishes snickers.

“Oh, hush up, you,” scolds Ribbon Wishes quietly.

“Welcome to the Port Rays of Sun International Zeppelin Port. May your stay in Khomas be pleasant and memorable,” says a pleasant zebra mare wearing a blue vest above a green blouse with a red ascot around her neck and a sun pinned on her chest.

She came on a few minutes after they docked and after her greeting the group of travelers murmur in excitement, except for Skai. He is slouching in his seat and rubbing his heat.

“Would you like some water?” asks Ribbon Wishes.

Skai holds up a hand. “Please don't talk to me.”

The mare pouts and slouches in her seat, and Bright Wishes pats her on the shoulder.

“Its okay, honey, some people just have rotten souls,” says Bright Wishes.

Skai rolls his eyes, but remains quiet, and a few minutes later a bell dings and green signs flick on in the aisles, saying: “You are now free to move about your destination.”

Next to the words are cheap smiley faces that belong on children school papers. Nonetheless, the passengers leave in an orderly fashion, aisle by aisle, one by one, like loyal cogs snapping in place for the gears they are a part of. When it gets to Skai's section he stumbles a bit, but quickly regains his footing and carries on.

Ahead, he sees the zebra mare greeting each passenger with a smile and a brochure. He thinks nothing of it as she gives him his brochure, wishes him a great stay and gently ushers him toward the chilly, crowded tunnel. After exiting the tunnel -and wishing ponies would stop looking at him- he steps into a spacious lobby of souvenir shops, benches and mingling tourists.

Patrolling the lobby are zebras wearing armored vests with a basic sun stamped above their heart, and saddles with machine guns strapped to them. Underneath their vest are black and gray camouflage garment, and most of the soldiers are halfhearted in their patrol, but the obvious newbloods are alert and tense at the sight of the growing crowd. One pair of guards have the misfortune of having their pictures taken by tourists who have no idea when to use the flash, leaving both guards blinking and stumbling while lousy photographers trot away, happy as can be.

Poor photography aside, Skai goes directly to a souvenir shop, hoping to find something of value, but all he finds are cheap dolls, flags, shirts and more coffee mugs. One mug even says: 'I Survived the Dark Lands' with a stick-pony running away from stripped stick-ponies throwing sharp objects at it. It actually has a good size to it, so it can hold plenty of coffee. Or hot chocolate. Or orange juice. Does Arnica even like orange juice? Skai remembers something about her with orange juice and a coffee mug.

“How much for that coffee mug?” asks Skai in Equestrian, his talon tapping at its display.

The zebra behind the counter shrugs. “I don't know. How much do you have?”

“How much for the mug?”

“How much do you have?”

“I'm not telling you unless I get a price.”

“Price is subject to change.”

“Okay, you know what? Fuck you, you sudaltai novsh.”

The zebra scowls and Skai walks off, shaking his head in disbelief of the stupidity of the situation. He would have expected something like that from a griffin, but a zebra? He has a hard enough time processing that he is in a zepplinport inside a zebra nation, but now they have shysters, too? What has happened to the world?

As Skai goes through the zepplinport, fuming, he spots something he should have seen earlier. It is an obese zebra sitting at a cafe, eating a bowl of orange chips. The obese zebra is wearing a tropical shirt, has mostly black fur with white stripes, and a long mane somehow tied into a row of braids. Added on to the odd sight is that the zebra has a sign with Skai's name on it, resting against the table.

While Skai stares at him, puzzled, Ribbon and Bright Wishes brush past him, wishing him a good day, and pass the oversized zebra without delay. Another moment later, the obnoxious Romaneian crybaby and his group hurry past him, and the orange stallion meets up with a zebra stallion that has black spots as well as stripes. The spotted zebra is quick and jittery when he touches hoofs, and he hurries the group away. Once that odd group is gone, Skai sighs inwardly and approaches the table.

Skai coolly slides into the vacant seat across from the zebra, and the striped equine stops eating and looks up at the griffin, his eyes widening and his ears sinking.

“Jela?” asks Skai.

“Altan Skai?” asks the zebra shakily.

Skai snags a handful of chips and shoves them in his mouth, nodding as he chews, and really loving the cheesy taste to it.

“Equestrian or Zebrican?” asks Skai, his mouth full of delicious, cheese flavored chewed food.

Jela looks at Skai's talons as if they belong to a leper, and a couple of awkward seconds later he looks up, which lines up perfectly with Skai taking another handful of chips.

“You know Zebrican?” asks Jela.

“Not a lot,” replies Skai, his mouth once again full of chips.

“Then we will stick with Equestrian.”

Skai nods and takes more chips, and Jela scowls and pulls the bowl close to his chest.

“Man, why you gotta be eating my chips for?” says Jela.

“What? I'm hungry and you looked like you could spare some,” says Skai.

“Wow. Ozean not only did not say you would be a griffin, but he also did not say anything about you being an asshole.”

“I just got out of prison. Cut me some slack.”

“Prison? What did you do?”

“I killed people in a fit of rage when they didn't pass the chips.”

Jela's eyes and ears perk, and Skai stares at the zebra, stone cold and talons flexing. The zebra gulps and sweat trickles down his stripped face as Skai narrows his eyes. Seconds of silent contemplation of fight or flight options later, Skai suddenly grins and relaxes in his seat.

“I'm kidding. It was actually theft, but let's forget about me and get down to business. I don't want to be here any longer than I have to,” says Skai.

Jela sighs and climbs out of his seat, shaking. “Fine. Follow me.”

Jela escorts Skai through the zeppelinport with apparent tunnel vision, seeing as how he does a fantastic job of nudging travelers out of the way, while Skai keeps his eyes moving, watching every step and hearing every word of the passing crowd, all without bumping into anybody. They pass terminals, shops, kiosks, a help desk, and one area has a group of zebras and ponies alike crowded around a large dial radio, and giving out drinks while trying to listen in on the broadcast is a unicorn-zebra.

“This is not a civil war,” says a stallion over the radio. “Everypony is calling it a civil war, but that is a lie. It is civil unrest and the Congress and the President are handling it quite well.”

“This way,” says Jela.

He bumps Skai towards a bare area that has a fading and peeling mural of ponies and zebras of all ages planting a field of flowers with a bright sun shining down on them. After the two stop moving, Jela takes a quick look around, eyeballing passing equines with hostility, but once they are gone he looks at Skai.

“Before we go anywhere, there are two things you must know. One, when we leave Khomas we will be going into Hell,” says Jela. “Second, when you complete your contract I will take you back to Ozean and we will be free. So, no lolly gagging. No fooling around. In. Out. Done. Got it?”

“Got it. When do we go?” says Skai.

“Now,” says Jela.

“Now?”

“Yes. Now.”

“Why now?”

“What do you mean why now? I thought you wanted to be done as soon as possible!”

“Well, I figured we could grab something to eat first. A final dinner before our descent into Hell, if I'm going to believe your words. Plus, I need to buy a souvenir.”

“Oh, come on. Zepplin food is not that bad.”

Skai jiggles his bag of money. “I'm buying.”

Jela is silent for a moment, but it ends with a reluctant sigh and nod. “Okay, fine. We can get some food, but we are not getting souvenirs!”

“What am I supposed to do? Scoop dirt into a jar.”

“Yes.”

“... The gift is for a girl.”

“So? Sand is more personal and has lots of stories to it. Plus its free. But before we eat, I need to give you this.”

Jela hands his sign to Skai and motions him to open it up. After the old griffin opens it he pulls out a secured envelope and grimaces at the “From Love” scribbled on it with a heart surrounding the message. He tears open the envelope and pulls out black and white photos of a griffin about his age, definitely healthier build, sporting sunglasses and a smile for politicians. With a scrunched brow, Skai turns the picture over and finds a description of the griffin. The description pegs him at sixty with light red fur and feathers, gray plumage and blue eyes.

There is another picture, but this one is of a slender, black furred canine with ever watchful eyes, large ears, and a necklace of a crescent moon. The description behind the labels him as a jackal, thirty and green eyes.

The last picture in the stack is a pegasus stallion with a short mane and tail, wearing an armored vest with a long barreled rifle on his saddle. It describes him thirty, blue with spots of white along his hoof and back, and an orange mane with white streaks, and light blue eyes.

Beneath the descriptions of each photo are the names of the subjects: General Kilij Ilb, Ausar Jah and Royal Sentry.

“Your mission is to basically kill off the leadership of one the largest black-marketeers in the continent,” says Jela, bringing Skai out of his inspection. “All three are in Zebrica, but your main target, General Ilb, is attending a formal event at Harmony City very soon, so it'll make him an easy target. I'll explain more later, but for now we must get moving. Our window is closing fast.”

Jela hurries off, and Skai stuffs the pictures in his saddle and speed walks after the zebra, grumbling: “The things I do for people.”