Reclan kicked the generator with her metal foot, and it began to whir happily. She looked around at the Wingspan’s utilities section, satisfied that it was put back together to the best of her ability. It hadn’t been easy, but everything but the ripmed was ready to go. The drive and communications system’s photon multiplier had been destroyed, and without it the ship was mute and crippled, unable to travel or communicate faster than the speed of light.

Vanbrook looked at her with a smile. Most of the swelling was gone now, and the boyish charm of his grin had returned.

“You always find the right tool for the job, Rec,” he said.

Reclan nodded and laughed. “Yeah, but I still need parts to fix some things properly,” she noted. “The engineering team and I managed to put a list together, but that doesn’t do us much good if we don’t have a way to get them.”

“Well, have we had any word on the Ferryman?” asked Vanbrook. “There were supposed to be a bunch of spare parts onboard.”

“Yeah,” said Reclan. “Everything we need and more. Sounds like communications is hopeful their satellite scans may have found something, but they need to do a deeper scan to be sure. It’s not a good sign we haven’t heard from them.”

“Yeah,” said Vanbrook soberly. “Even if they had radio issues with the iron deposits you’d think they’d have found a spot to send a comm from by now.”

Relcan shrugged, wiping her greasy hands off with a rag.

“I’m gonna go clean up. Meet in the galley in half an hour?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Vanbrook, “sounds go-”

“Talon squad, please report my quarters immediately,” came Jasken’s voice over the friends’ comms.

“That can’t be good,” said Reclan.

Vanbrook frowned.

“Raivyn,” he said in a low voice, and took off towards Jasken’s quarters.

“We’re, uh, on our way, sir,” said Reclan as she went off after him.

***

Meanwhile, high above Hittania, Crush’s new armada drifted aimlessly through the aether, orbiting the planet. She was still aboard her star tree, familiarizing herself with the design and systems of the small craft. It was something between the size of a fighter and a cargo hauler, with a series of empty coffin-like chambers in the hold that looked like some kind of wave tuning technology. It appeared to be a medical ship, which would explain the lack of serious firepower. There were a handful of beam eyes, but they were small.

As she was studying the vine-like structures that wound their way from the control center to the eyes, a comm came in from Tank.

“Admiral Crush? Are you there? The crew is getting antsy.” Tank sounded nervous.

This was the call she’d been avoiding. She’d given life-or-death orders as they’d fled and then established orbit, but she’d been quiet since, still unsure where to take her burgeoning revolution.

She considered leaving the system immediately. The gunships were perfectly capable of interstellar travel. She could land the star tree on the larger gunship and get back into pirate-friendly aether easily enough, but they were a small and vulnerable fleet at the moment. They needed allies. She stood up straight and walked into view of the camera- or eye, as it were. She was still getting used to the concept of a biological ship.

“For the moment, we will remain here,” she said with more confidence than she felt. “I have already spoken with the Griffon Republic once, giving them information that was of more value to them than to us.” She heard shouts of disapproval. Better to be honest from the beginning, she thought.

“The Republic is not our enemy here,” she continued, raising her voice to quell the chatter. “The Astralbians, who used us, and the Ramshackle Collective, whose fetters we have thrown off, are our enemies. By allying with the Republic as mercenaries, we can leave our days as pirates behind us and become privateers.” She paused, giving the others a chance to think, and their silence worried her.

“What precisely is the difference, Admiral?” asked Tank, thoughtfully. Crush sighed internally.

“Being a pirate is when you attack anyone and everyone hates you, being a privateer is when you only attack enemies and have a powerful ally who likes you,” she said. Tank nodded and there was a thoughtful silence.

“Okay,” said Tank. “Okay, we’ll be privateers. I think that could work, Admiral!”

Crush shuddered internally. What had she started?

“I’m glad you agree, Captain Tank,” she said, still trying to project authority. “I will be landing on your ship shortly, please clear the deck for my arrival, and make sure to have Captain Hacksaw of the Dirge come aboard as well, I want to discuss this armada’s future with the leadership.”

***

Vanbrook burst into Jasken’s quarters, Reclan close behind him. Three of the scouts stood with Jasken and Fenrik. Doc and D'Jarric ambled into the room behind Reclan.

"Where is she?" demanded Vanbrook.

"Raivyn was taken captive and is believed to be held in the mother tree. Ghet was killed in action," said Jasken calmly.

"I should have been there," said Vanbrook.

"I'm sorry, Vanbrook," said Jasken. "I called Talon Squad here immediately so you'd hear it from me. You'll be the first to know about any demands or negotiations, as well."

"Negotiations?" asked Vanbrook, incredulously.

"Yes," said Jasken, firmly. "Negotiations. We have the cylinder. And watch your tone, soldier." Vanbrook was too angry to take the hint.

"I suppose you call that a successful mission, then," he said bitterly.

"Hey, my best friend is dead," said Rahk. “Stop feeling sorry for yourself! Being in a 'special squad' doesn't actually make you special."

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Vanbrook sucked in a deep breath, turning on Rahk with murder in his eyes, not even sure what he was going to say.

"Get out of my sight, Vanbrook!” Jasken demanded. “We'll discuss this later."

Vanbrook stormed out of the room. Reclan looked after him worriedly. Jasken gave the room a moment to cool down. No sense dismissing Rahk just in time for him to run into Vanbrook in the hallway.

"Thank you all for coming. You are dismissed." He let them begin to file out, then added, "D'Jarric, please stay behind a moment." Reclan nodded her goodbye to the Solaran and kept moving, hoping to catch up with Vanbrook.

Jasken closed the door and turned to D'Jarric.

"You are the closest thing we have to an expert on ancient Talpadarian now," he said as he retrieved the cylinder from his desk.

"Of course, Admiral," said D'Jarric, taking it in his hands. Turning the cylinder over in his hands, he admired the craftsmanship that went into the deceptively simple-looking puzzle box. Jasken looked on, smoothing his mustache and trying to keep his nerves in check. He wasn’t convinced a madman’s prized possession would be worth all this trouble, but all the conflict with the Ramshackle Collective and the Astralbian Kingdom up to this point had come down to this moment. With great care, D’Jarric turned the letters to line up under the indicator arrow.

K. U. L. A. K. U. M.

With the briefest of hesitations he pressed the release mechanism. The cylinder opened jerkily, springs fighting against rust and dirt. A slip of paper appeared in the open cylinder. Jasken carefully retrieved it and unfolded it.

It was a hand-drawn star chart, drawn on two connected ellipses. The formation of the stars could tell a well-trained astronomer how to locate that area in the galaxy.

"It would be good to get this information back to the capitol," said Jasken, "but that's a moot point. Can you disarm the cylinder so that it can be closed and opened without fear of destroying the document?"

D'Jarric fiddled with the cylinder and pulled out a glass vial of an unassuming clear liquid.

"There, it should be safe now. I'd be very careful with the acid, though. He handed both parts to Jasken, who returned the map to the cylinder and put the glass vial, wrapped in a cloth, in his desk.

“I’d appreciate you not telling anyone the cylinder has been opened, D’Jarric,” said Jasken.

“Of course, sir,” he replied.

“Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me when it’s just the two of us,” laughed Jasken. “You’re the king of the galaxy, here on a lark.”

“I’m only prince of a star,” said D’Jarric with an unseemly pout, “and Solarans don’t go on larks, Admiral. We manifest when called to do so, and now I wonder if my calling relates to the reemergence of Koo L’Koom.”

“I suppose we’ll find out, D’Jarric. I suppose we’ll find out.”

***

Raivyn’s eyes fluttered open groggily, but her surroundings were pitch black. Reaching out with her mind, she found she was unable to send T-waves more than a few feet in any direction. She groped around in the dark, feeling cold, knotted wood beneath her. She crawled a few feet and was struck by something ropey and cold that flung her into a wall. She cried out as she flew, grunting with the impact.

There was laughter in the dark.

“You deserve it. You deserve it all,” said a voice.

Raivyn didn’t respond, she crawled a different direction, or what she thought was a different direction, and was again flung back by the unseen assailant. Again the laugh rang out in the darkness. It wasn’t an Astralbian laugh, high and haughty, but something earthier.

“Grikchum, that’s you, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said the voice, “it’s me.”

“Maybe that’s the brightside here,” said Raivyn, voice heavy with malice. “Maybe they’ll kill you first, and I’ll have the satisfaction of watching you die. Or at least hearing it.”

“Kill me? Ha! I am a loyal servant. I brought them the cylinder. When I open it, I’ll be rewarded.”

“Servant? Reward? You’re sick.”

“NO! No, I’m the sane one! Our ancestors were fools to cling to the dirt like worms and deny our masters! They are our betters! We should serve them! I’m not sick, I’m just bold enough to be right.”

“You’re right; you’re worse than sick. You’re just another boring would-be revolutionary, with no better excuse than boredom and a vague sense you deserved more than you were being given.”

“You know nothing!” shouted Grikchum. Raivyn smirked. She couldn’t really win here, but if she could get under Grikchum’s skin, she certainly would. She pressed harder.

“Let me guess: you weren’t born into wealth, but not poverty, either. By your dialect I’d say you were born on Talpadaria, northern hemisphere. You were a gifted student, promised the world, and after decades of schooling, you found yourself bored and underappreciated in a world that didn’t give you every little thing you wanted. Am I getting close?” There was a moment of silence.

“Shut up, worm,” came the response at last. Raivyn’s smirk cracked into a wide grin.

For a while the prison was silent. Raivyn found a reasonably comfortable place to lay down and did so, staring towards a ceiling she couldn’t see and trying to work out the nature of the prison. She was fairly certain she was in the basement she’d been threatened with, so she was still on the mother tree. The limbs that kept her from moving freely were a mystery. She assumed they were part of the ship, though whatever was blocking her abilities kept her from communicating with them.

A doorway creaked open, and light spilled into the room. Not much, but enough to see the rough wooden floors and her fellow prisoner. There were a number of semicircles on the ceiling, both ends touching a wall. They were made up of bulbous nodes, and each one had a root or tentacle that extended across the ceiling. She was laying roughly in the center of one, and Grikchum was standing below another. That was how the cells worked. Stay under your semicircle or one of the tentacles would slap you back into it.

She heard whimpering and pleading, and looked up to see an Astralbian being frog-walked down the steps by two guards, with Lord Raelik following them. She stood up and leaned against the wall, affecting a disinterested look while watching every detail.

"You can't lock me in here with these worms!" said the prisoner. Raelik shook his head haughtily.

"Don't appeal to your dignity, Jacrill. The King will decide your fate, but until he does you are of no more account than any other prisoner."

"My Lord!" exclaimed Grikchum, "I was hoping to have some light today, to work on the cylinder." Raelik smiled with a shallow warmth and walked towards Grikchum.

"I'm afraid the cylinder was stolen by your old friends. We will, of course, retrieve it. But, by the time we do, scholars will have arrived from Astralbia," he unsheathed a knife and stabbed Grikchum in the abdomen. Grikchum looked at Raelik in shock. Slowly, his eyes drifted over to Raivyn. She shook her head, returning his gaze grimly. Raelik jerked the blade up, causing Grikchum to gasp before collapsing to the floor.

"So your services are no longer necessary."

Wiping off his blade, he turned to Raivyn.

"When I have time," he said without emotion, "there will be many questions for you. And much pain, I'm afraid. I will see you soon." Without another word, he walked out of the room, guards in tow. Jacrill paced his cell, wringing his hands. A part of the bulbous, tentacled creature that served as jail and jailer descended from the ceiling of Grikchum's cell, groping towards the corpse. She heard a kind of slurping noise as the lights went out once again.

***

Vanbrook hadn’t had a single coherent thought since he stormed out of Jasken’s office, but he found himself walking into the garage.

“Hey, you’re Vanbrook, right?” Vanbrook looked up to see one of the garage’s attendants looking at him excitedly.

“Oh, yeah, that’s me,” he said, snapping back into the here and now. “I was just, uh, wondering if I could take a bike for a spin? Clear my head some.”

“Uh, sure! Talon Squad can do whatever it wants, right?” he said with a wink and a nod.

“Yup,” said Vanbrook, taking the lucky break. He grabbed two helmets and walked over to one of the hover bikes, jumping on it. As he fit one of the helmets on his head, the attendant was saying something about what an honor it was to meet him or something. He started the bike and shot out of the garage. The guard at the gate let him pass without issue, and he shot off towards the Astralbian camp.

His comm had automatically linked to his helmet and a call came through the emergency channel.

“Vanbrook, you were not authorized to take a bike,” said Jasken in an icy cold voice. “Get back here immediately.”

“No can do, Admiral,” said Vanbrook.

“I hope you’re prepared to lose your hide over this decis-” Vanbrook cut the call off and rode on into the night.