Prime Minister Skritka walked up the stone stairs of Griffon Keep, the ancient fort built in the earliest times of the Republic, when a handful of species gathered on Griffonia to rally and fight back against the Astralbian Empire. Then, the planet itself was hostile. No one knew which plants would bring nourishment and which would bring a painful death. The predators of its plains and forests were a constant danger. The weather patterns were poorly understood, and sudden storms and floods killed many, as did the harsh winters. All of that was merely the backdrop against which a small band of sapient species, none of whom had advanced beyond steam engines or similar technology before being invaded by the Astralbians, stood up against an oppressive empire and fought for liberty. The sacrifices they made back then caused Skritka’s to pale by comparison. He tried to keep that in mind as he made his way to what promised to be a painfully stupid meeting.
He made his way through the winding halls, reporters harrying him until he got to the private quarters. There, the reporters handed the baton off to the aides, who harried him until he got into his private office. Entering the room, he faced the five members of the Expansion Committee. Now it was their turn to harry him.
“Members of the Expansion Committee. Welcome,” he said warmly.
“Cut it, Skritka,” said the Committee chair. It was Trekna, the Raki who had given Jasken a hard time about the mining potential on Hittania. “I don’t want to hear your sweet-talk. What’s going on with the Blue Griffon Fleet?”
“As I explained before we set up this meeting, I don’t know. Admiral Jasken missed an update, which is very out of character, but I know nothing more than that. Which makes me wonder, why did you demand this meeting?” Skritka knew why. Trekna wanted as much bad publicity as possible when it came to Hittania. He wouldn’t do anything to directly sabotage the mission, but if he sniffed out a way to spin Hittania as a problem he’d jump on it. So here they were, in a secret - yet somehow known to the press - meeting, discussing a report that was less than twenty-four hours late.
“To hear it from you yourself! And to hear what you’re going to do about it!” demanded the Raki.
“I am indeed concerned about Jasken’s fleet. But unless your committee is willing to send a scout, or even another fleet, to investigate, there is nothing to be done. Protocols say that is not necessary for an additional week.”
“Think of the waste of resources that would entail!” exclaimed Trekna. Skritka sneered at the false outrage.
“Unless one of you,” he paused to eye the spineless lackeys that made up the rest of the committee, “has a solution or information beyond what I sent in my report, I will kindly ask you to leave my office now.”
Trekna had gotten what he wanted, so he left in an over-acted huff, followed by the rest of the committee.
***
Crush finally reached the Astralbian Camp. As expected, it was guarded lightly enough that she was able to slip in through the perimeter, scoping out the available vehicles. She had no idea if she could fly a star tree, but she intended to find out. She noted a small one, lightly guarded, and tried to make her way to it. Flitting from shadow to shadow, she wound up close enough to the central star tree to listen in on the two Astralbians just walking out of it. One had a forked chin, and was dressed as a knight, if Crush was interpreting his accoutrements correctly, with his hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword. The other, who had extremely sharp features, even by the standards of his species, was wearing a silver band on his head that identified him as a lord of some kind.
“...so we take the traitor back to Astralbia. We have what we want,” said the lord.
“Of course, Lord Raelik. However, if we can wait just a few days more, the great eye will be ready. The Blue Griffon fleet will be nothing but a memory. Even if they have shields up, a surprise attack from a great eye so soon after our battle should make short work of their defenses,” explained the knight.
The first Astralbian, who Crush now recognized as the lord from the video comm, laughed a deep and hearty laugh. Crush shuddered at the thought. A great eye was a terrible Astralbian weapon. It took master tree priests and intensive resources, but once grown it could flatten a small village in a single strike. From orbit. Many of her folk had been destroyed in such attacks.
“Yes, I think it will be worth the wait.”
The pair continued their walk, and Crush continued to move. She could use the intelligence she’d just gathered to her advantage, assuming she survived what came next.
She managed to slip over to the star tree she had picked out and sneak up behind the guards. She put a hand on each one’s shoulder and activated a small device concealed in her palms. Electromagnetic disruptors, referred to in some circles as “poppers” worked like wonders against EM beings. The guards’ deaths were as silent as they were instantaneous. She slipped up the ramp and felt around the edge of the doorway for a closing mechanism. Without knowing what she touched to activate it, the door closed. She shrugged and turned around, only to find a guard standing there in disbelief.
She rushed the guard, hands raised, poppers activated. This guard was better prepared, and blocked the poppers with a buckler and then parried with ashortsword. The guard scored a solid blow, tearing through the tough “skin” between Crush’s armor plating. In the end, though, she was no match for Crush. Pretending the blow had hurt her badly, she offered a weak faint. The guard fell for it, and she smiled internally, striking with dizzying speed, ending her opponent.
All that was left now was to fly the star tree, a feat she wasn’t sure she could manage. She stepped onto the little dias and grabbed the root-like controls, as though she had been born knowing how to fly one. She focused on lift off, and, lo and behold, lift off she did! She heard herself laughing like a maniac as the tree shot into the sky. She was certain she would be followed, but, for the moment, this felt like victory.
***
Reclan sat in one of the makeshift hospital wings of the Wingspan. The majority of the medical equipment and resources had been on the Ferryman.
She was keeping vigil over Vanbrook, who lay in a bed, unconscious. The doctors had given him void wasp antivenom as soon as he returned, but he still hadn't stirred from the venom-induced slumber he'd fallen into.
Someone stepped into the room behind her. She turned to see Doc loping in, clipboard in hand.
"Oh, I'll give you a bit," he said, turning around.
"No, please stay," said Reclan. "I could use a friendly face."
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Doc stayed there in the door, saying nothing. Between his largely stationary features and his general standoffishness, he wasn't often referred to as a "friendly face." The silence felt awkward to Doc, but Reclan found it comforting.
"Van is the one who talked me into this whole military thing," she said with a soft chuckle. “He figured it'd be good for me. All in all, I think he was right.
"I guess I've got a pretty thick skull, but losing my foot put some stuff in perspective for me. I felt sorry for myself at first, which I guess is just natural, but this voice in my head - and I'll admit it sounded like Van - told me that there were folks depending on me, and that I'd have to make it work. So I buckled down and built myself a foot. It's not lost on me that not everyone would have that kind of opportunity. And it's not lost on me that I couldn't do all this by myself. I could have easily died back in the pit, but I didn't. Thanks, Doc."
Doc just nodded in his silent way. Reclan couldn't judge his reaction in the slightest but it didn't matter. She was happy to finally say out loud some of the things she'd had on her mind as of late. She might have overcorrected with some of the mushy stuff there, but she didn’t mind.
"Well, in other news," said the Robot, "Jasken is recovering nicely. He still wears armor under his uniform out of habit, so the round didn't do too much damage. One of the guards that got shot looks like he'll make it, as well. The professor and the others are dead, I'm afraid."
Reclan shook her head. "We're gonna make him pay. Him and the Astralbians."
"I hope so," said Doc with a nod. "I hope so."
***
Just a few doors down the hall, Raivyn walked into Jasken's hospital room, where he laid on the bed looking no worse for wear, but thoroughly frustrated.
"You wanted to see me, sir?" she said.
"Yes," he said stiffly. “Sorry for the venue. These blasted doctors won't allow an old sailor to tend to his own bruises. Regardless, we received a worrying transmission from someone claiming to be a Ramshackle defector. Crush, she called herself, says that the Astralbians are growing a great eye on their mothership. She also said it will be done in a few days, and when it is they plan to leave Hittania, blasting us into a smoking crater on the way out.
"Doc and Reclan are needed here, Vanbrook is out of commission for the time being, and D'Jarric is not built for covert missions. I want you to work with Captain Fenrik's scout team to infiltrate the Astralbian position, steal back the cylinder, and disable the eye."
"Understood, sir."
"Good," he nodded. “You have a meeting with the team and the Astralbian twins in two hours. Providence shine on you."
"Same to you, Admiral."
***
Crush had finished her message to the Republic when the void wasps caught up to her. She looked at them scornfully on the display screen, wondering how the weapons worked on this strange, living ship, and just like that three wasps were obliterated by energy beams. She was beginning to like this ship.
She led her pursuers over the horizon, trading shots as they went, until she could see the Ramshackle fleet in the distance. With a shaking hand, she opened up the comms to speak to the entirety of the fleet. She steeled herself, knowing that she could not simply go back to the Collective after everything that had come to light.
“Soldiers and sailors of the Ramshackle Collective, this is Crush. Many of you know me. I work hard, and I see to it that my work supports the greater good of the Collective. That is how we are taught it is supposed to be. That is not the reality.”
“Crush!” came Grim’s rusty voice back over the comms channel. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but that’s enough! Park that… thing on the Reaper’s deck and be welcomed back a hero!”
Rather than responding herself, Crush played a recording over the comms.
“You are a true believer, Crush. I admire that. I really do. But I was hoping your loss of the platinum bar would put things into perspective for you. We are the good of the Collective. The benefits accrue to us.” The voice was Grim’s, but it had come back out of the past. Crush had been recording him since her doubts first blossomed.
“To me, any of you who want something better than the scraps our leaders give you! Fight, and win this fleet, and fly under a new banner with me!” Crush suddenly realized that her comm connection had been cut off. She wasn’t sure how much had gotten through.
Everything was oddly silent for a moment, then the Reaper’s guns began firing towards her. Utilizing the intuitive controls of the nimble star tree, she avoided the shots easily. The Sepulchre, the gunship Crush had poured so much work into, began firing on the Reaper, and the battle began in earnest.
In Grim’s cabin, he was calling the nearby Astralbian star trees, demanding support.
“Why aren’t you firing on that thief and traitor!” he cried.
“That is our star tree,” said the disinterested Astralbian. “Get it back to us or we will deduct the value of that ship from your pay.”
“That is no way to deal with an ally!”
“Ally? You are working for us, for pay, as mercenaries. I suggest you get your house in order, Admiral. Best of luck to you.”
The battle raged outside, and confused Collective robots ran, dueled, and died all across the decks of the fleet. On the display before her, Crush saw a lanky robot trying to aim a smaller deck gun at the ship he was on in an attempt to scuttle the gunship that had joined her cause. A burly erstwhile comrade yanked him from the gun’s controls and the would-be saboteur was thrown overboard.
The Shroud appeared to be damaged beyond repair, or at least beyond use for the moment, and smoldered as it drifted across the void. The Dirge, the smallest of the gunships, joined with the Sepulchre in attacking the Reaper, and that left the Reaper and the Gravestone under Grim’s command, while she held two gunships and her star tree.
The two forces maneuvered away from one another, facing off. A call came in to Crush’s comm system.
“Crush? This is the brand-new captain of your brand-new flagship Sepulchre. Captain Hacksaw aboard the Dirge is on the call as well. My name’s Tank. What are your orders?”
“Tank! I remember you from the gun repair work. Did I just see you toss someone overboard?”
“Um, yes, ma’am, he was attempting to stop your revolution.” The term stuck in Crush’s mind. Revolution? It seemed too grandiose. But maybe he was right.
“Yes, I saw it all. Good man. As for orders, we need to disengage. Even if we win this fight we’ll be too crippled to celebrate.”
“Yes, ma’am. Pleasure to serve,” said Hacksaw.
“Understood, Admiral Crush,” again Tank’s words hit her sideways. She supposed she was a revolutionary admiral now. Another call came up, interrupting her musings.
“Crush, you traitorous scum! I’ll crush your core myself!”
“That’s Admiral Crush to you, Admiral Grim,” she said imperiously. “I suggest you allow us to retreat without any interference, unless you’d like to take this to the bitter end. I suppose your new friends won’t even come pick up the pieces, as they despise machinery.”
“You will regret this, Crush,” said Grim, ending the transmission. He slammed a fist down on his solid hardwood desk. It cracked under the force. She was right. The two forces could tear each other apart, but to what end? It was a harsh, small galaxy for an independent pirate crew. He’d track her down eventually. He watched the now-enemy ships float away over the aether, cursing them as they shrank over the horizon.