Skritka sipped a glass of Griffonian rum. Brewed from the eponymous sugary roots of sweetroot plants, it was a planetary specialty and the unofficial beverage of the political class.
Trekna walked boldly up to where Skritka sat at the bar, saying, "Prime Minister, some of my constituents are quite excited about the opportunities afforded by getting an early claim on some territory on Hittania."
"Then they can get in line with everyone else and file a claim request," said Stritka dryly. Trekna was about to respond when someone spoke from behind him.
"Senator Trekna, don't you have an election coming up?"
The senator turned to see Admiral Jasken giving him a smile that did not reach his eyes. He had just returned along with the rest of the Blue Griffon Fleet, having been relieved by a fresh contingent of Republic soldiers, sent to clear the way for civilian settlers. After seemingly endless debriefings, interviews, and speeches, he was on leave for a few months while they waited for the fleet to be repaired and Shrump's coordinates to be decoded.
"How are your polls looking?" continued the Admiral. "I heard your handling of the Hittania situation did not go over well."
Trekna shot an equally insincere smile at Jasken, saying, "Oh, excuse me, Prime Minister. I didn't realize you were here with a guest." He slinked off into the crowd.
Jasken sat down next to Stritka and ordered himself a rum.
"Well, well, well," said Skritka with a chuckle. "Maybe you've got the makings of a politician yourself."
"Oh, don't say that," scoffed Jasken as he took a sip of his drink. "Believe me, I still prefer outright aggression to passive aggression."
Skritka laughed some more, patting Jasken's shoulder.
“Do we have any more information on this Free Revolutionary Fleet faction?” asked the Prime Minister.
“No,” said Jasken, shaking his head. “They cleaned up the scrap, as agreed, and left. Strangely, they showed an interest in the Astralbian wreckage.”
“That is strange,” said Skritka, shifting uncomfortably on his barstool. “Do you think this Admiral Crush is really a psychic Robot? Without even knowing it? I didn’t think that kind of thing was possible.”
“I don’t know, Prime Minister. I really don’t. I think we’ll want to keep an eye on her and the FRF, but that’s not really my department.”
"Well, I'll have you out among the stars again soon, since that's what you seem to want," said the Prime Minister.
Jasken smiled ruefully. "Give me the details, then."
***
Vanbrook stood with the rest of Talon Squad, all of them wearing their finest formal clothing. A young girl threw flower pedals haphazardly as she toddled down the aisle, followed by a young boy who held rings in one hand and picked his nose with the other. Embarrassed parents signaled desperately to the boy to leave his nose alone, but to no avail.
After a moment, celebratory music rang out and Kaihla entered the auditorium wearing an elegant white dress, a crown of fresh flowers and a brilliant smile. Her hair was intricately braided, with flowers expertly woven in. At the other end of the room stood Drixen, wearing a perfunctory rented set of clothes and an equally brilliant smile. He was fighting back tears and losing.
The wedding was beautiful, moving, and, much to Vanbrook's delight, short. When the moment came for the couple’s first kiss, the minister said, “As befits the culture of the bride’s mother’s homeworld, the couple has reserved their first kiss for this moment, as they express their love to one another and commit to a lifelong relationship before friends, family, and the Progenitor.”
Raivyn’s face was unmoving, but turned bright red. D’Jarric smiled mischievously. Reclan barely managed to suppress a snicker. Doc remained stoic as ever. Vanbrook studied the floor very carefully for a moment.
The reception was a massive and joyful affair. Kaihla came from a rich cattle ranching family, and her parents had insisted on inviting the entire fleet to the reception. Early in the night, two sailors got into a tussle, but Jasken escorted the men out, dragging them by their ears. After that, everyone made sure to stay in line.
Talon Squad sat at a small table near the open bar, chatting and laughing the night away. Kwa-Kwa joined them for a while, but had to leave to tend to Freckles, who was doing well but still recovering from his wounds. Triflin and Kiflin stopped by the table as well. They were excitedly telling anyone who would listen that they were intending to enter basic training before the week was out, and hoped to be assigned to the Blue Griffon Fleet for the next expedition.
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When the bride and groom came to greet them, they exchanged hugs and well wishes. Kaihla even gave Raivyn a warm, if awkward, embrace.
"Come on, guys," said Kaihla. “This next number’s a classic ranch-hand barn dance. My dad learned it back before he bought the ranch, but if you ask him, he’ll tell you he invented it.”
After briefly exchanging glances, the squad stood up and followed the happy couple to the dance floor, joining the throng and learning the steps of the dance as they went.
“I had no idea you could dance,” Reclan shouted to Vanbrook over the band’s music. The swashbuckler picked up the moves much faster than the others.
“Pfft,” responded Vanbrook with a smile. “This is just swordplay without an opponent. It’s all footwork.”
The band changed songs so smoothly that Vanbrook hadn’t really noticed. The crowd started to disperse, and couples paired off, swaying to the softer tune. He looked around and saw that Raivyn was the only squadmate left on the dance floor.
“Huh,” said Vanbrook, rubbing the back of his neck. “I guess the others can’t handle more than one number.”
“I… I think I could hang in there for another dance or two,” said Raivyn. “Besides, this is a variation on an Aeratan folk tune. I actually learned to dance to this one in school.”
“Show me?” said Vanbrook, offering his hand and smiling wide. Raivyn took it and they swayed across the dance floor. Vanbrook towered over Raivyn, but he adjusted his stride accordingly and learned the steps quickly. Back at the table, sitting with Doc and D’Jarric, Reclan watched with a smile.
The evening wound down, and Raivyn and Vanbrook went their separate ways, as did the rest of the squad. As Vanbrook walked into the moonlit night, he saw a griffon flying overhead.
“I like to let him stretch his wings in the open air. Griffonia is his homeworld, after all,” said a voice from behind. He turned to see Jasken, looking dour as ever.
“So that is Ol’ Blue, then,” said Vanbrook, looking back to the massive silhouette in the sky.
“Yes, and hopefully he won’t do his business on anyone’s vehicle or anything like that tonight. I try to keep him more disciplined than that, but he’s a wild one at heart.”
Vanbrook searched the admiral’s face for the hint of a joke, but, if it was there, he didn’t see it.
“You know, Vanbrook, you’re not entirely off the hook for ignoring my orders - twice - on this past mission. But my, oh my, do you get results,” Jasken continued. The segway was not lost on Vanbrook.
“Admiral, I’ll never challenge your authority without good reason,” said Vanbrook.
“Look, Vanbrook, consider this me wiping your slate clean, up to and including that very weak and insufficient pledge you just made. No one else knows this yet, but we’ll be shipping out again in three month’s time. The Wingspan, the Halberd, and an as-yet unknown additional support vessel. I expect you and the rest of Talon Squad to be on that expedition, and I expect you to be on your best behavior.”
“I always am, Admiral,” said Vanbrook, trying not to smirk.
“Don’t I know it, Vanbrook, don’t I know it,” he answered, shaking his head. “By the way, was that the first time you’ve ever danced with Raivyn?”
“Yes,” said Vanbrook, his brow furrowing at the question. “Unless you count the mag-boot shuffle we pulled when we were fighting off the boarding party.”
“Interesting,” commented Jasken idly. With that, the admiral walked onto the sidewalk and gave three sharp whistles. Vanbrook felt the wind coming off the griffon’s wing as it landed. In a moment Jasken had mounted the beast and flew off into the night. Vanbrook smiled up after him. Three months felt like too long a wait.
Epilogue
On the surface of Hittania, a metal box laid at an odd angle in the middle of a still-smoldering crater. Even on close inspection, the remains of Grim’s cabin, specially designed to survive through nearly any assault, were unrecognizable.
A lone black centipede, scouting for food, crawled up to the cabin and began inspecting it with wriggling feelers. A cold steel foot kicked the heavy metal door open suddenly, and Grim burst out into the open. The centipede reared and hissed in defensive surprise. Grim grabbed with both hands, hoisted it overhead and tore it in half in a blind rage, covering himself in bluish gore.
He threw the pieces aside and roared his primal rage into the sky, his booming speakers shaking his chain beard. Stork would pay. The Astralbians would pay. Jasken would pay. Crush… she would pay the dearest price of them all.
***
It had all started during his university days. Hoon-Kra had always been fascinated by the ancients and the pre-Imperial era. After the Astralbian Empire had fallen, Krauqia had immediately joined the Griffon Republic and the old ways were relegated to the distant past, generally frowned upon and little discussed.
Then he had found it: The Psychic Priests of Koo L'Koom: Aether Beast Worship on Ancient Krauqia. The dusty tome was a rich mine of forbidden and arcane knowledge, and Hoon-Kra dug out every nugget he could find. Being psychic himself, he brought a close circle of friends in on the game and declared himself high priest of his little cult.
The underground cult grew over the years, but it was largely a vanity project, serving as a kind of networking and power brokering organization in the shadows. Certain technological and psychic research projects were pursued, but little else came of it.
Then it happened. News came through his intelligence network that the resting place of Shrump the Mad had been discovered, along with a lead on the location of the Cornucopia Cluster, the home of Koo L'Koom himself. If it had anything to do with the myriad of offers and incentives he’d put out over the years for information on Shrump’s tomb, he didn’t know - but it didn’t matter now. He called his inner circle.
"Our time has come.”