While many of the other groups aboard the Wingspan had much to attend to, Talon Squad had relatively few responsibilities until the fleet launched. They saw to their quarters, then caught up with Fenrik’s Scouts, a small group of trackers and snipers that served a role similar to their own. Their leader, Kwa-Kwa, was raving about Freckles, the pet she’d acquired on Hittania. Her frog-like Kraquian features were bursting with excitement as she explained how she’d managed to get Jasken to agree to bring him along, granted he stays in the stables with Ol’ Blue.

“He took to training super well,” she was saying as the two groups took a meal together in the galley. “He qualified as an active duty hound. Obviously he’s not a hound, per se, but that’s what they call animals that you can’t ride but can bring into combat situations. He can track and even attack hostiles. I’m so proud.”

“And we’re never going to hear the end of it,” said Rahk. The tall Dromean sniper, Kwa-Kwa’s second in command, rolled his eyes as he stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. He had a feathered crest like Reclan’s, only with the much more colorful plumage of a male.

“Aw, c’mon, I like Freckles,” said Tawln, a stocky Human female with broad features.

“He ate my jerky! That was supposed to last me at least until Kirakna!” moaned Rahk.

“Oh, you’ll be fine,” said Grisht, the fourth and final member of the scout troop. “Besides, that jerky smelled like animal feed to begin with, how can you blame the pup?” The Talpidarian male had only joined the troop a few weeks ago, replacing Ghet, who had died on Hittania.

D’Jarric laughed good-naturedly. He didn’t need to eat, but he always enjoyed meal times. He often said that they were about more than just food; they were where biologicals gathered to strengthen their bonds of friendship. Doc also came to the meals, but if the robot had any deep, philosophical reasons for it, he kept it to himself.

“They’re all against me,” said Rahk glumly, shaking his head.

Raivyn had to smile at the banter. It was nice to be back on the Wingspan, even if they wouldn’t be going anywhere for another twelve hours. She looked over at Vanbrook and Reclan, who were happily chowing down on their plates of meat, root vegetables, and mushrooms.

“Hey,” said Reclan between bites, “I saw the twins lined up with the engineering department! I didn’t realize they were coming along.”

The twins, Kiflin and Triflin, were young Astralbian soldiers who had turned on their masters, defecting to the Griffon Republic and fighting alongside them in the war for Hittania.

“Yes,” said Raivyn, “they went into basic training as soon as they were able. I think Jasken wanted to be able to keep an eye on them.”

Vanbrook nodded. “Yeah, they’re tough kids. Smart as anything, too. Kiflin, the girl, even challenged me to a friendly duel,” he said with a chuckle. Just then his comm buzzed.

“Speaking of duels, looks like ol’ Rolling Thunder’s buzzing me, I’ll be right back.” The swordsman stepped away from the table as he answered the call.

Raivyn turned her attention back to her food, but couldn’t help keeping an eye on Vanbrook. She grew concerned as his smirk melted and his face paled. Evidently Krum-Bahk’s comm wasn’t a simple social call. His face went from pale to red. He hung up the phone and stormed out of the galley. Raivyn got up quickly to follow him.

“Hey what’s going on?” asked Reclan.

“Hopefully nothing,” said Raivyn without elaborating. She walked swiftly to the galley’s exit, trying to catch up with Vanbrook.

She caught up to him just down the hall.

“Hey!” she called out. “What is it?”

Vanbrook rounded on her, face livid. While his anger was usually justified, he often took it out on undeserving targets.

“Wilbis was murdered last night,” he seethed. “Stabbed to death behind the Feint Heart. A witness saw Darvik near the scene.”

“Okay, and where are you going?” asked Raivyn, arms crossed. Vanbrook stalked towards her, murder in his eyes.

“I’m going to go kill Darvik,” he said with an icy, trembling voice. Raivyn stood her ground.

“You’ll be AWOL, and Jasken will kick you off the Squad,” she said flatly.

“So what? I’ll land on my feet. There’s plenty of jobs out there for a Navy vet, even a dishonorably discharged one.”

“You think Jasken will discharge you?” Raivyn scoffed. “More likely he’d send you off to some ice planet or asteroid belt to scrub toilets for the rest of your term of service.”

Vanbrook’s brow furrowed. She had interrupted his rage, making him actually think, and now she pressed her advantage.

“All that assuming you don’t simply get thrown in prison for murder, since that’s what you’re talking about doing. Wilbis was a friend, and good folk. We’ll do everything we can from here to cooperate with the investigation, but the Kerucester police will handle this.”

Without another word, Vanbrook stalked away, but Raivyn was happy to see him turn towards his quarters rather than the exit. As much as she hoped the murderer would be brought to justice, she wanted Talon Squad at full strength for the expedition. She breathed a sigh of relief and went back to finish her meal.

***

Krum-Bahk ended the call with Vanbrook and hung his head. He hoped his old friend and rival wouldn't do anything rash, but he couldn't bear not telling him about Wilbis' murder. The three of them went back too far. Darvik had been there at the beginning, until everything happened.

As much as the three fighters would squabble, they were a tight-knit group. Wilbis has been an almost fatherly figure, or at least a sagely, bartending uncle. But Darvik got into some trouble. Vanbrook got mixed up in it, too, but he'd managed to get off without jail time. He'd joined the Navy shortly thereafter. Krum-Bahk never got the full story. It didn’t matter now anyway; they’d all made their choices. Now Darvik had crossed the line in a way he wasn’t coming back from, and Krum-Bahk wouldn’t rest well until the murderer was brought to justice.

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As much as he’d personally like to bring Darvik down, however, he was shipping out in a few short days. Some cult had started some kind of uprising in the Shredvrak Belt, and his team of Marines was being sent to bring order back.

As he walked through the halls of the Depot, he caught a glimpse of the Blue Griffon Fleet in the airfield. A crowd of well-wishers and revelers gathered around the fence. Krum-Bahk thought he saw a familiar face in the crowd. His face and head were shaved clean, but he recognized the murderous look in his eyes. He raced to the nearest exit and ran to the fenceline, but to no avail. If Darvik had been there, he was gone now. It was probably all in his head anyway. What kind of hunted killer would be foolish enough to show up there, anyway?

***

Darvik only stood at the fence for a moment. He looked hatefully towards the fleet. He had thought maybe he could get there in time to see the soldiers all standing in lines, maybe even get a shot at Vanbrook. Sure, he’d have been caught. But it’d be worth it if he could kill the man. Oh, well. He slinked off before anyone recognized him. Even with his head shaved, his face was plastered all over the news and he shouldn’t stay in Kerucester any longer than necessary. It was foolish to mill around in a large crowd like that.

He made his way down to the south end of town, where the paint was faded, the streets were busted up and the law was sparse. There was a spaceport that catered to a more discrete clientele there, and he was hoping to exchange work for a no-questions-asked flight to Kirakna.

The burly Raki in the port’s dingy front office pointed him to a hangar in the back of the airfield. Inside, an antique of a freighter that seemed to be made of more patches than actual hull was being loaded with crates. Darvik had seen enough cargo crates in his time to know the labels on them were forgeries. Whatever was in them, it wasn’t the soaps and cosmetics claimed on the sides. He walked up to the man directing the work.

“Hey pal, I need passage to Kirakna," Darvik said. "I’ll work for it.”

The squat, watery-eyed Human male turned and looked at him.

“You got papers?” he asked. “Can’t take you on an interplanetary trip without papers.”

Darvik snarled.

“I believe I saw you drop your papers now that I think about it,” said the man gruffly, pointing to an old, broken-down office building across the street from the hangar. “Go into that office over there and see if they picked them up for you.”

A half hour later, Darvik was flopped in a hammock below decks, waiting for take-off, his forged paperwork in hand and his wallet a few plats lighter.

***

Vanbrook had holed up in his room after lunch. His anger went from a brilliant white glow to a cherry red smolder. However, waiting around didn't suit him, and boredom and hunger soon drew him back to the galley for dinner. He was glad to see Reclan sitting alone and joined her.

"Oh, hey Van," she said with a conciliatory smile. "How’re you feeling?"

"Like garbage," he said with a shake of his head. "I'd like to personally wrap my hands around Darvik's neck and squeeze."

Reclan nodded.

"Wilbis was a good guy. I didn't know him like you did, but he was always nice."

Vanbrook laughed. There was sorrow in the laugh, but not malice. It was honest and friendly. "No he wasn't, but he was always honest, and I prefer that. I appreciate the condolences, but let's talk about something else. I'd rather focus on stuff I can do something about."

"Welp," declared Reclan, "I'm afraid there's not much to do until launch."

Unfortunately for the two of them, Jasken was walking by at that moment.

"Oh, there's plenty to be done," said the Admiral. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes twinkled.

For the next two hours, Reclan and Vanbrook were scrubbing down built up dust and residue in the guts of the Wingspan. While the ship had been fully serviced during the past few months, there was always something to be cleaned.

Vanbrook probably could have weaseled out of the grueling work, but it gave him something to do, so he embraced it.

"Look at that," he said, gesturing to a shining steel pipe that stood out in sharp contrast to the grimy surroundings. Reclan huffed.

"Yeah," she spat as she stood up from the smeared railings she'd been listlessly buffing for the better part of an hour. "It's beautiful." She stretched her back, standing up from her crouch position for the first time in over an hour. She groaned as her muscles protested.

"Oh, don't be so dramati- OUCH," whined Vanbrook as he tried to work the kinks out of his own spine. "Alright, so it's a bit cramped, I guess. But hey, you can tell what we cleaned up. Gotta love that feeling."

"No, I don't," said the Dromean grumpily. "Next time you open your mouth to put your foot in it, I'm gonna kick your teeth in."

She brandished her cybernetic right foot, wiggling the metal claws she'd built to mirror the organic claws of her left foot.

"All souls, report to in-atmo stations immediately," said Captain Hunt over the public comm channel. "Launch will occur in exactly thirty minutes."

“Finally!” exclaimed Reclan, stuffing her rag in her pocket and pushing past Vanbrook to get out of the underbelly of the ship. Vanbrook shook his head and smiled at his old friend’s brusque antics, following her to the upper decks.

“So…” said Reclan as they walked down the hallway that led to the Wingspan’s central tower. “You talk to Raivyn much since the wedding?”

“Hmm?” asked Vanbrook nonchalantly. “Uh, not really.”

“Oh. You two just seemed really… close at the wedding.”

“Yeah, I guess. We’ve always worked well together, but I guess something about getting stuck in a nest of killer centipedes with someone really forges that brother-in-arms kind of bond.”

“You often slow dance with your ‘brothers?’” The Dromean asked innocently, looking straight ahead. She loved Van, but he was dense as a black hole. Or he was just hiding things from her.

Before Vanbrook could think of a decent response, they walked into a room located about halfway up the bridge tower. It had a number of seats and served as a viewing area and conference room, as well as a place to strap in for the bumpy ride out of the atmosphere. Vanbrook and Reclan sat down with the rest of Talon Squad and buckled in. Raivyn gave them an odd look, and Vanbrook realized for the first time just how filthy they’d gotten scrubbing below decks. Shrugging, he settled in next to the psychic, who just shook her head. Sailors filed in over the next ten minutes, then the next warning came.

“All souls, report to in-atmo stations immediately. Launch will occur in exactly fifteen minutes.”

Vanbrook studied Kerucester from where he sat. To the north he saw Griffon Keep, the small castle that housed the Parliament, standing stubbornly in the midst of the skyscrapers. It was a majestic stone building, built as a fort during the war against the Astralbian Empire. Though its tall towers were dwarfed by many of the surrounding buildings, it looked as though it had been built ages before the glass and steel edifices around it, and would still be there ages after they fell.

To the East he could make out the Capitol Stadium and the entertainment district. For the first time in a few hours he thought about Wilbis. The anger that he’d instinctively raised as a shield didn’t come to his aid this time. All that was left was sorrow. He tried to stop the tears, but his eyes betrayed him and his face was soon soaked. He felt the familiar clawed hand of Reclan, patting his right shoulder, and he buried his head in his hands. Maybe the others would think he was just getting a preemptive case of airsickness. He felt a second hand, this time on his left shoulder. It was Raivyn’s. She gave his shoulder a squeeze.

Vanbrook pulled himself together. Wilbis was gone. Sooner or later Darvik would pay. For now, he had other things to worry about.

There was a final warning.

“All souls, report to in-atmo stations immediately. Launch will occur in exactly five minutes.”

The warning was followed shortly by a brief, shrill alarm and a countdown. A rumble started to shake the entire ship, and the city began to fall away from underneath them. Their seats shook as the sky slowly darkened, not for lack of sun, but for a lack of sky to shine in. In a short time, the fleet floated in the aether, and began preparations for the first ripmed jump of their journey.