Chương 30: Education

"I have no fundamental issue with a pet carrier. I understand that it may appear demeaning, however, I would prefer a shorter transit with suboptimal legroom to a longer transit in comfort." Shrike observes over Martin's shoulder, a half-dozen tabs open on his laptop about how to classify Shrike for airline travel. So far, large animal and temperature-controlled hazardous material are the best fits. The pair need to get to New York City in a few days for the first of their hands-on seminars.

"You're not going in a dog crate." Martin repeats, for the third time. He's starting to think Shrike actually likes the idea. There is an easy solution to this, he thinks. Just explain it in a way she can understand. He types 'baggage hold temperature' into the search bar, followed by '10C in Farenheit'. No reason to tell her the pet compartments are heated differently... For emphasis, he types 'are pets fed during air travel' and 'how loud are baggage holds.'

"... upon reflection, perhaps I should hold myself to a higher standard."

"We're sorry, but Omega Air Lines does not allow any magical beasts at this time," the voice on the other end of the phone states, after roughly twenty-five minutes of transfers and holds.

"I believe you misunderstand. I am not some exotic pet. I am in employ of the government for the express purpose of eliminating the very creatures that would pose a threat."

"We're sorry, but our policy stands."

"This is a needlessly frustrating process. Were I to pose a random threat, why would I bother to deal with this elaborate process instead of simply killing everyone in the notably crowded airport?"

"Hey, Marissa. Come in." Martin opens the door for her, awkwardly balanced on the crutch.

"I heard about Frederick from Shrike. I'm sorry for your loss." Marissa sighs.

"Thanks. I know the risks of the job, but it still hurts. Is Shrike taking it okay?"

"We had a talk. She's better now." Martin briefly considers how much he's been lying by omission lately, and almost always either to Shrike or about Shrike.

"I hope so. I'm here on business, by the way. The FBI contacted us, saying that a phone at this address has someone claiming to be a magical beast threatening a terrorist attack at an airport?"

"Yeah... she told me she tried to use a 'practical example' of why she should be allowed on a plane." Marissa snorts.

"How about you handle the calls for now on?"

"I'll do that. Thanks for fielding this for us. I really don't want to deal with whatever hell she'd have unleashed if Counter-Magic broke in here, guns blazing."

"Neither would I. Actually... let me talk to Ximena about getting on a plane. I think there's a workaround. Do you have anxiety? Depression? PTSD?" The TSA agent looks down at the officially notarized letter for a Martin C's emotional support animal on the basis of magical beast related trauma. She looks back up at Shrike's smug grin.

"Sir, you can't honestly expect this to work. Who is this, your wife?"

"No, Shrike C is my magical beast hunting partner, and officially certified emotional support animal. Read the letter again. It says specifically that my support animal is named Shrike. Shrike, fetch." Shrike, still grinning smugly, offers her license. Sapient magical beast & moon-rank magical beast hunter. The agent scrutinizes the paperwork, and eventually looks back up at Martin.

"... she's clearly a person."

"And yet, we can't find an airline who would let her be anywhere but the cargo hold as she is. Thing is, she's a magical beast, which falls under 'exotic animals' on the TSA's website, and I'm a government employee who is licensed to handle magical beasts. Everything's in the clear."

"Also, what the hell is she wearing? It's tripping the metal detector like hell." Martin produces another document, this one stamped by the director of the Non-Human Persons Department of the MBR, explaining Shrike's complex anatomy and required assistive devices.

"It's a low-voltage, battery operated heating element, which according to the TSA's rules on reptiles, amphibians, and other cold-booded animals-""This is easily the dumbest thing that has ever happened to me at this job. Easily." The TSA agent waves them through with a sigh.

"On that, we agree." Martin winks.

"Sir, she doesn't have a government ID." The airport concierge looks at the pair of hunters holding up the flight, much to the line's growing irritation.

"Shrike, speak!" Martin jokes, now looking as smug as Shrike as he hands the certification over again.

"Bark. Woof." Shrike checks her phone for the time.

"Meow, I suppose." Shrike stares out the window the entire flight, pressed against the glass like a curious child, watching the world move by beneath her. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she never really believed that airplanes were as magical as she was told. They don't soar like birds, or buzz like insects, yet these massive metal tubes move through the sky at astounding speed. She watches the mountain range beneath her, once insurmountable. This must be what Caribou feels like, she thinks.

No wonder it is so confident all the time.

"Oh, Martin, I realize I forgot to mention that when slaying the reanimator in the bunker, I unlocked the memories related to the bone fish hook." Martin glances off to the side, where the other passenger in the row looks over quizzically.

"Oh cool. I haven't gotten to that video game quest yet." He nudges Shrike a few times with his foot. Shrike turns from the window, analyzing the situation before continuing.

"Yes. It was a... surprisingly pleasant few years. I- my character, that is- was with a largely coastal tribe. I had a friend there, Ek-Tak, and I was Het-Helk. We left on pleasant terms, my character remembers. It did not lead to new abilities, but there is a nostalgia there that I now hold close. It taught me much of who I am." Shrike rests her head on Martin's shoulder, bringing her arm around his chest in a soft hug.

"I hate it when long quests don't have a good reward," the other passenger notes.

"Gods..." Shrike watches out the window, as New York City comes into view. It's... terrifying, from the air. Humanity created that? She shivers a bit. She had seen pictures, but much like airplanes, it wasn't real until now.

"Martin, I am... somewhat frightened by the scale." He looks over at his partner, expecting a smile, but sees genuine trepidation in the way her fists rest fingers-down on her thighs. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. He places a hand on her knee. He searches for comforting words, but in truth, he doesn't know why it scares her. Shrike watches the baggage carousel circle around.

"Should the airline have mishandled my heated clothing, Counter-Magic will have to be alerted."

"Shrike. No." Martin furtively glances around, smiling weakly at a nearby security guard who reaches a hand to his radio.

"I shall seek out whoever manages the luggage, and- oh, there is mine!" Martin breathes in relief as the security guard rolls his eyes and walks away. As the taxi takes them into the city, Shrike finds herself instinctively holding on to Martin's hand for protection.

"These... are these truly human-constructed buildings? They eclipse anything I have seen prior... are they tilting inward?"

"No, Shrike. You're just scared. I can feel your pulse, so don't say you're not."

"I am obviously scared! How do you humans have such faith in architects they never appraised, and in that a single recalcitrant construction worker has not made an error that would collapse the structure? If one fell, would the rest topple in turn, such as... what is the metaphor... the pizza place?"

"How do you know the word 'recalcitrant' but not 'dominoes'? And no, they wouldn't knock each other down." The cab driver watches them in the back of his taxi, speaking with a thick unplaceable accent.

"Miss, where are you from?"

"I... I suppose Utah is accurate enough? I do not know my exact origin." She stutters out, eyes still watching the towering building above her.

"Mhmm..." His eyes return to the road, having figured it out.

"We humans like proving people wrong. It's our favorite thing. If someone fucked up, another someone would have said something." Shrike shifts around a bit, before taking a few quick breaths and resting back in the seat.

"Is all of human society built upon the desperate need to be correct?" The cab driver and Martin exchange a look, before answering 'Yes' in unison.

"Somehow, that is comforting. There are countless humans inhabiting such a small space. It is like an ant colony with only queens." She watches the packed streets constantly alive with motion, wondering if she could disappear into them, too. With a generous tip to the driver, Martin crutches up to the desk, his splinted hand holding Shrike's.

"We have a reservation, Martin C."

"Last name?" The concierge asks with a neutral expression."

"Just C. Magical beast hunter."

"Gotcha... yep, Martin C. Room 1601, sixteenth floor. Uhh... this is a single room, so only one bed."

"Yep. Shrike here's a big fan of sleeping on the floor." The concierge seems unbothered by the bizarre statement.

"Can we get your bags?"

"Yeah, thanks." Martin gently squeezes Shrike's hand, as Shrike takes the keycard to their room from the man. As they reach the elevator, Shrike's hand grips Martin's a little tighter, as the elevator shudders to life and brings them up. Martin is grateful it doesn't have a window looking outside. Her view of the city from the apartment is hardly noteworthy from an average person's perspective, but for Shrike. Its an astounding sight. So many people with no idea who might be watching them.

So many things that could go wrong. So many lights...

"We can close the curtains, Shrike." Martin bounces on his back a few times, testing the firmness, before resting his healing leg and wrist.

"No... I inexplicably feel more secure as we ascend. Is there terminology for that?"

"Yeah. The term is that you're weird." Martin opens up his laptop, checking for nearby things to do. He's been at this same hotel twice before, but he can't remember a thing about the area. He wonders if that's just New York, or just him. Shrike curls up to sleep peacefully on the floor, clothes plugged into an outlet that seems prone to releasing any prongs that enter. Martin stretches a bit as he lays down in bed himself. Big day tomorrow. Relatively speaking.

"Shit shit shit!" Martin is thrusting his casted leg into loose dress pants, as Shrike hesitantly wakes up.

"Is the building collapsing?"

"No, but I forgot to change the god damn time zone on my phone!" Shrike looks at her own phone.

"This updated automatically, judging by the sun's current position. Additionally, Utah time is two hours behind New York City time." He slows down, sitting on the bed, thinking. He checks the calendar app on his phone. As Shrike said, he's on time.

"Son of a bitch. Look at that."

"It is unlike you to mistake details. Are you feeling ill?" Shrike comes over, sitting next to him.

"No, I'm just nervous. I hate crowds, and I really hate speeches in front of them. What's worse, I can only let you do half the talking, otherwise I'll seem like an asshole." He groans, falling backwards onto the soft hotel pillow.

"There's a reason I made you give the speech when I advanced to three star." Shrike gently rubs his back. She decides not to comment on how silly of a fear it is, compared to her entirely justified one. The MBR building is squat, but only by comparison with the building surrounding it. At 15 floors and noticeably wider than any other building nearby, it would attract attention even without the art deco aesthetic and the roaming security.

Shrike and Martin walk in, and the moment they enter the grounds, every guard nearby looks in their direction. Martin was warned that would happen, and to have both his and Shrike's ID ready. After briefly showing them, he is escorted into the building by an armed officer with 'MBR' labelled cleanly across his bulletproof vest. The pair are directed to the first floor's second gymnasium, where the seminar is scheduled for a full three hours, not counting a half-hour break for lunch.

As they arrive, there are a solid twenty pairs of folding chairs, each set up a half-dozen feet from the next pair. Makes sense, Martin thinks, to avoid conflict. Most of the seats are already filled. Martin recognizes none of the humans, but is fairly confident that at least one of the non-humans is a genderuwo, a seven foot tall hairy humanoid with brick-red skin. A former human, too, complicating the matter even further.

Another is clearly a ghillie dhu, a fairy spirit that protects a forest for the duration of its existence. The fact its here suggests a sad fate for the forest. As the last few pairs trickle in, Martin notes that they have been almost entirely silent, other than brief conversations with their partners. Even the pairs next to each other that both have a lizardperson remain silent. Though one seat remains unfilled, Martin clears his throat, looking at his printed out notes, as he starts to sweat a bit.

He takes a breath, and focuses. He glances at Shrike, who seems... sleepy. If Shrike can sleep through this, damn it...

"Hello everyone. I'm Martin C. This is my partner, Shrike C. She's a kynde. I'm a human. We hunt non-sapient or rogue magical beasts, like you all. Usually it goes better than this." He taps the cast on his leg with a crutch, smiling at the crowd. No one laughs.

"Anyway, apparently it's not that weird to be in a relationship with a magical beast here. We're from Utah, so that was a surprise." A brief murmur as partners confirm with each other what and where "Utah" is. As expected. Shrike takes the next part.

"Hello. My name is now Shrike. Ten-thousand years prior, it was Het-Helk. I require many concessions from humans, as all magical beasts do." There are a few grumbles of disagreement from humans in the crowd, which turn into arguments, which eventually morphs into a massive shouting match as the humans and magical beasts argue with their partners and each other. Exactly as Martin expected, much to Shrike's disappointment. Martin draws his revolver, firing it twice into the air with blanks.

Every head and vaguely head-shaped mass turns to him.

"Great, now we all know each other. Now you all just need to direct that energy to the actual threats and not at your partners. It's pretty clear the situation is... exactly as expected. Here's some fun trivia, Shrike's beautiful outfit contains heating coils that keep her at her preferred temperature of 130 degrees Farenheit. We had to get a special bed constructed, since she hates the feeling of soft beds, and I hate sleeping on the floor.

We have to keep the house at a temperature of 80°, because I can't take much hotter than that. We both make concessions. That's how this works. What humans and non-humans suck at is communication. Start talking with each other. Not yelling as a group. Pair off and discuss your problems. Shrike and I will visit each pair individually, and help you from each perspective, since every partnership is incredibly unique." Martin holsters his gun.

The eyes on him slowly start to shift on each other, as they quietly pair off again. Perfect.

"Impala, you're being an ass. I'm not on the 'monster side', I'm on the 'not being an ass side'. Just let your partner fly around at night. You live in West Virginia, for God's sake, you think anyone is gonna see?" Martin rolls his eyes.

"I do not understand the conflict. The lizardperson wishes to live in the basement, which is currently used for storage. This can be solved by simply relocating the storage to the bedroom you intended for your partner originally. Is there some aspect of this I am failing to understand?"

"Jesus Christ, you don't have to live together! It's convenient, but its not a law or whatever! Just get a second shitty apartment in the same building!"

"Ghillie Duh, you wish for the human to relocate to a nearby forest? Humans are unable to handle such conditions. Look at the human. How will it survive? Perhaps you two are simply incompatible. I suggest looking for partners in the northwest. Many hunters there enjoy the solitude."

"No, I'm not anti-anything. I have a kynde girlfriend, for hell's sake. You just have to be reasonable with the request. Yeah, a bigger pool sounds reasonable, but you can't expect a damn refrigerator in there. That's not how air works."

"I disagree. I find the heart to be the most edible of the organs, though that may be symbolic. You will not perish from leaving alone the particular organs your partner gets nauseous from seeing you eat." Martin flops onto an empty folding chair, the room having been cleared out after the seminar's conclusion.

"Most of the pairs are talking to each other now, at least," Martin notes with a groan.

"That's progress."

"Indeed. Additionally, many of the non-humans have begun speaking with others now." Who knows, Shrike thinks, maybe they'll start a group chat.