The Halberd was about half the size of the Wingspan, but the interior was similar enough that Talon Squad felt at home immediately. Captain Kesht greeted them as they came on board.
“The famous Talon Squad,” he said cheerily. “A pleasure to have you aboard.”
“Happy to be here, Captain,” said Raivyn. “We’re excited to get back out into the aether.”
“Excellent,” said the Raki captain, absently smoothing his antennae as he spoke. “I expect to move quickly. The plan is to leap-frog over a couple of the planets we stopped by on our way out, taking longer jumps for a more efficient route. We’ll be heading straight for the ice moon of Platnon and then onto Avonia, taking on water at each stop. From there it’s right to Gateway. Hopefully the whole trip takes a month or less.
“Sorry, Hrake, I know you’re probably hoping to see home again soon, but Hruduk isn’t on the itinerary for this trip.”
The massive Hrudukite bowed his head to the captain deferentially. “I am still on a quest to see the galaxy beyond my homeworld. I will go where I am sent.”
“Good, good,” said Kesht with a nod. “For now, I’ll have someone show you to your rooms.”
Launch went off without incident, and Talon Squad soon found themselves once again traveling faster than light thanks to the ship’s ripmed drive. Vanbrook continued to largely keep to himself, showing up for meals and then disappearing into his quarters once again.
Nearly a week into the jump, Raivyn found herself wandering down to the ship’s gymnasium, only to find Vanbrook there, working out his frustrations on a punching bag, mag-boots keeping his punches momentum from flinging him back in the zero gravity conditions. She considered leaving, then marched into the room anyway, settling onto an exercise bike not far from Vanbrook. When he realized she was there, the swordsman nodded to her, then went back to his workout.
“Gevrok sought out Hrake and challenged him to combat in the middle of a battle,” said Raivyn, breaking the silence that had reigned for the better part of a half hour. “Both parties were awake and aware when they fought.”
Vanbrook paused, not turning to face her.
“Last time you spoke to me outside of professional necessity, you asked why I stopped you from shooting Darvik but let Hrake kill Gevrok. That’s my answer. I’ve known it since you asked, and it’s past time I said it out loud.”
Vanbrook picked up his gym bag and headed off towards the shower. He turned to look at Raivyn over his shoulder and shrugged.
“Thanks,” he said simply. “Fair enough.”
Raivyn’s shoulders slumped as he walked away. She hadn’t known how he’d respond, but she’d really thought saying it out loud would make her feel better. So far, she just felt worse.
She didn’t have much time to meditate on the situation, as Kesht’s voice came over the public comm.
“Attention all personnel,” said the captain. “This is Captain Kesht. We have gotten word of an attack against our allies on Hruduk. Given our proximity to the planet, we will be responding. We land in twelve hours. Be ready to disembark and engage in urban combat at that time.”
***
Meanwhile, in pirate-controlled space, Admiral Grim sailed with his new fleet, acquired after Admiral Gnash had died in combat over Gateway. The fleet was small; the three main gunships that Gnash oversaw were destroyed in the same battle that took his life.
“Gnash, is that you?” came a voice over Grim’s comm. The voice was oily and rough, much like the appearance of its speaker.
“No, Stork. Gnash is, unfortunately, no longer with us,” said Grim flatly.
A moment of silence followed.
“Who is this?” asked Stork.
“A ghost, come back to take what is rightfully his,” answered Grim. He activated the ship-to-ship comms and punched in his admiral’s code, which allowed him to broadcast to any Ramshackle Collective ship’s public comms.
“This is Admiral Grim. I am the rightful admiral of the remnant of Admiral Gnash’s fleet, as well as my own Scythe fleet, and I challenge Admiral Stork. Return my ships to my command or face me in mortal combat.”
There was another moment of silence.
“My champion will face you,” came Stork’s reply.
“Fine,” answered Grim. “On the deck of the Gravestone, then.”
“I will see you there,” said Stork.
Grim wasted no time climbing onto the hoverbike he had stolen from the Wingspan a few months prior and jetting over to the Gravestone. He stood on the deck, working his joints to check his flexibility and examining the edge of his saber, surrounded by a crowd of Stork's crew. Soon a skiff came over from the Nest, Stork's flagship, bearing Stork, a pilot, and a massive Robot who was nearly as tall as he was wide.
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Grim felt a surge of elation as he anticipated fighting the champion, whose appearance had more in common with farm equipment than the Humans that Robots had been designed to emulate. He assumed the Robot was either on the younger side or had undergone a number of modifications over the years. The first generation of Robots had their consciousnesses integrated with huge systems and pieces of infrastructure, but the free will that cropped up with core crystal technology soon caused issues.
The war that followed wiped out many of the Robots and ended with the Galactic Treaty of Consciousness, or GTC, an internationally recognized treaty that ensured equal treatment for Robots within the IGC but also restricted the size of Robots to typical humanoid sizes. The Ramshackle Collective, being a criminal enterprise, generally didn't worry about such things, but violations of the GTC tended to bring an undue amount of attention. The Robot facing down Grim looked like he was skirting the edges of the treaty. No matter. He'd be dead soon, anyway.
"Grim!" shouted Stork as he swaggered across the deck to meet his foe. He was a gangly, hideous robot with an intricate, articulated face that had neither the clean, abstract lines of the typical robotic faceplate or the cheery, organic charm of a biological face. Oil dripped from his hinged jaw as he spoke. "It comes to this, then. You against my champion." He laughed wickedly. "I don't like your chances."
"You probably didn't like my chances when you blew up the Reaper with me still aboard, you coward," retorted Grim. "Yet here I am."
"Harvester!" called Stork over his shoulder. "Come and kill this pest for me."
The massive champion strode forward, pillar-like legs shaking the deck, thick arms with pneumatic muscles swinging easily by his side.
Grim was smaller, but only a little less imposing. His tall, wide frame was draped with a long red overcoat with shining black trim and buttons, and a series of chains hung from the chin of his skull-like face like a beard. He unhooked his gun belt, handing it to one of Stork's men.
"I hand this to you as an enemy about to duel. I will take it back as your rightful Admiral," he said to the Robot. "Don't get any funny ideas."
With that, he turned to face his opponent, drawing his saber and staring up into Harvester's burning red eyes. The rules of the duel were simple: no ranged or energy weapons and the last Robot standing wins.
"We begin," commanded Grim.
Harvester bellowed and swung a heavy yet predictable haymaker at Grim. The old pirate admiral was not surprised by the giant's straightforward and aggressive tactics. He was somewhat surprised his opponent chose to fight unarmed.
Grim ducked out of the way and slashed at Harvester's exposed side, his blade glancing off the protective metal plates that covered the giant's inner workings. Slashes were unlikely to find purchase between the armor, and Grim changed tactics, stepping back and waiting for Harvester to strike again. He didn't have to wait long and found himself leaping back to avoid a brutal jab that would have been lethal to most biologicals. A quick burst from his built-in thrusters brought him back down to the deck.
Not willing to expose himself to Grim's blade a second time, Harvester switched up his approach as well, sending out jab after jab to keep him at arm's length. Grim circled the deck, dodging and parrying but stuck playing defense.
Grim dodged backwards quickly, increasing the space between himself and his opponent. The next time a fist punched out, Grim met it with a thrust, burying his blade between the massive metal plates covering Harvester's knuckles. He pulled and twisted, trying to do as much damage as he could as he withdrew the weapon. However, Harvester cried out and ripped his arm to one side, trying to drag Grim along for a ride.
Grim let go of the sword and lunged inside of the giant's reach, pulling a long dagger from under his coat. Stabbing furiously, Grim aimed for the spaces between the armored plates. Harvester howled in rage and grabbed the scruff of Grim's neck, picking him up and slamming him into the deck.
Grim found himself being lifted into the air again, a piston-powered fist pulled back to beat his chest in. Grim brought his hands up as the fist slammed into him. When it was pulled away again, Grim was holding his saber once more.
With a cruel, rusted laugh, Grim thrust the blade into the giant's throat. Harvester threw Grim into the wall of the ship's cabin and reached up to pull out the sword, but Grim recovered quickly, jumping up onto Harvester's chest. He gripped a piston that stretched from the Robot's neck to his shoulder with one hand and punched his saber deeper into the wound with the other. His eyes now dark and dull, Harvester reached blindly towards Grim, but the seasoned duelist jetted back down to the deck and made his final thrust, pressing in between the armored plates of the giant's chest, cracking his core.
Harvester went limp, his mag-boots keeping his body tethered to the deck. Grim turned to Stork, whose face was an oily mask of rage and horror.
"Shove off, Stork," demanded Grim. "This is my fleet now."
The rage faded from Stork's face and he shook his head, his articulated face doing its best to convey a contrite spirit.
"Leave me just one ship, Admiral," he pleaded, hands clasped together.
"You hear this, folks?" Grim asked his new crew. "Take care of this thief. He's taken what is mine before. Never again."
Grim laughed as the crowd turned on Stork. He walked into the cabin of his new flagship and closed the door against the screams. He wouldn't see Stork again.
***
Back in the Cornucopia Cluster, Hoon-Kra, High Priest of the Koomites, looked out from the bridge of the Swamp’s Pride over a new world. Swirling storm clouds raged over the oceans and dotted mountain ranges belched out lava, the crimson rivers visible even from orbit.
“Are you sure this is the world to build our future on, sir?” asked a voice from behind him.
He turned to see Darvik. Once a drunk killer, obsessed with his rivalry against Vanbrook, he was now a drunk killer, obsessed with Koo L’Koom. Hoon-Kra had been surprised with how quickly Darvik took to the lessons he’d been giving him. He had always believed that everyone worshiped something, but Darvik was the best case study he’d seen on the point. He had joined the cult almost as a last resort, essentially a self-worshiper who’d come aboard out of survival instincts. However, once he decided to join, the cynicism melted away into a fervent study and worship of the great Aether Beast like Hoon-Kra had never seen before. He was eager to learn the old ways and study what was known of Koo L’Koom, which had been passed down secretly among the Koomite remnants on Hoon-Kra’s homeworld for centuries.
“Yes, this world is perfect,” answered the Krauqian after a moment’s consideration. “See those storms? The volcanic activity? What do they display?”
“Power,” said Jarvik. The fanaticism in Jarvik’s eyes caused Hoon-Kra to smile.
“And what is worthy of worship?” asked the High Priest.
“Power,” repeated Darvik, nodding with understanding.
“Koo L’Koom lives in this so-called Cornucopia Cluster,” said Hoon-Kra. “But until we find him, we shall revel in the glory of this planet.
“Our zealots have spread the word across the galaxy, and many are making the journey to us even now. We must have a place to house them when they arrive, and to that end we will bend our own power towards taming enough of this world to carve out a living on it.”
Darvik stared down at the planet, taking in the destructive power it displayed. Thoughts clawed at the back of his mind, trying to drag him back to his old life. His lonely, pathetic old life and the mistakes he’d made in it. He curled his fist and fought the thoughts down. He had purpose, now, like he’d never felt before. Surely that was better than digging up the old. A flash of lightning below grabbed his attention, and he watched it crawl across the clouds of the new world. He would remake this world, even as he remade himself.