The whining sound had been going on for a few minutes when a drill bit finally broke through into the Gladius’ hatch. The bit withdrew and a small hose was inserted. A thin gas, visible only where it distorted the air as it rushed out of the hose, began to fill the ship.

Grepk, Krum-Bahk, Keshri, and Trall stood absolutely still in their hulking armored suits, which protected them from the effects of the gas. They exchanged glances through their clear, domed helmets, but didn’t dare speak. They assumed this was the same fate that befell the crew of the Dart, which sat docked beside them in the otherwise empty hangar, but they had no idea what to expect.

The hose withdrew, and there was a moment’s pause before the hatch was torn from its hinges. A robotic figure strode onto the ship. It looked unblinkingly at the Marines who were still standing and reached for some kind of weapon. It was immediately blasted by heavy fire and fell to the deck.

“Go, go, go!” shouted Grepk, rushing the door. A few more of the mechanical attackers were waiting outside, along with a tall creature in a cybernetic suit. The creature wore a purple tabard held in place with a thick belt, clasped together with a buckle that depicted an orb being circled by a dragon, and a metal headdress that swept off the back of his head like a serpent’s tail.

The robotic drones all raised guns and were firing rays at the Marines, but the cyborg turned and fled to the hangar door, running out and slamming it behind him. A bolt of energy caught Krum-Bahk’s helmet and knocked him back, leaving a spiderweb crack where it struck.

The drones were no match for the Marine’s combination of energy and ballistic rifles and were quickly mown down.

“You may have bypassed my preferred method of capture, Griffonians,” said a surly, gravely voice from the door. “But you are trapped nonetheless. Your ship is disabled and I will let you starve or suffocate if you do not exit your suits and surrender. How you die is of no concern to me, but be sure the crew of the Dart died far more quickly than you will in that room.”

Having said all he had to say to the troublesome interlopers, Farbin turned from them as the door slammed shut. These Griffonians were much more well-armed than the first group had been, and had managed to avoid his trap. There was no reason to waste any more resources on the matter, though. Once the ring was complete he would have all the soldiers he needed and more. Better to devote his time and resources to that end. He was so close.

Inside the hangar, the Marines had returned to the Gladius to regroup and work out an escape plan.

“Looks like our systems are still down at the moment,” said Grepk. “Whatever he hit us with doesn’t look like it’s going to wear off any time soon.”

“The suits might still be the answer,” said Trall. “For whatever reason, they work. Maybe we can do something with that?”

Grepk eyed a spare suit hanging in the crew and cargo area. “Okay, yeah. I’ll work on that. Everyone else, get that door repaired. Check the Dart for spare parts. Just slam it back in place and weld it tight. We need it aether-ready as soon as possible.”

***

Vanbrook and Doc got back to the Wingspan about an hour after the rest of Talon Squad. When they met up with the others, the atmosphere was depressed, almost funereal.

“What happened?” asked Vanbrook, a concerned look on his face.

“Nevermind that,” asked Raivyn. “How's your head?”

Vanbrook waved her off. “Eh, it's fine.”

“Mild concussion,” offered Doc. “He'll be fine if he does as I say. Otherwise I'll just give him another one.”

“Yeah, yeah, brain health, blah blah blah,” said Vanbrook. “Why does everyone look like they just lost their childhood puppy?”

“Hunt got himself in trouble,” said Reclan. “That antique junker out there? It’s the refugees from Shumriven. He sent them aid against orders, and now he’s probably looking at a court martial.”

“A court martial? For helping our allies?” asked Vanbrook.

“For stoking the Astralbian’s tempers,” corrected Raivyn. “He could be discharged for this, if not jailed.”

Vanbrook’s face fell. He wasn’t Hunt’s biggest fan, but he hated to see him punished for doing the right thing. “Is he being sent back home immediately?”

“We all are,” said Raivyn.

Vanbrook balked.

“By the shortest route possible,” continued Raivyn.

“But… new worlds!” was all Vanbrook could muster.

“Silver Star Fleet is going to be out here for that, but the Blue Griffons are going to be grounded for a while,” said Raivyn with a shrug.

Vanbrook shook his head in disgust. Back to Griffonia it was.

***

The Marines had free reign in the hangar and worked doggedly at repairing the ship, taking anything of value they could from the Dart. Grepk had torn apart the spare suit and had wired the battery to the Gladius' backup power supply, hoping he could jump start the system.

“That's all a person’s hands can do,” said Grepk. “It's in Providence’s now. How are things going with the repairs?”

“They're done,” said Krum-Bahk. “Not pretty, but aether-worthy.”

“And the Dart?” asked Grepk.

Trall smiled mischievously. “We've got a surprise rigged up for our cybernetic buddy.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Oh?” asked Grepk.

“Trall rigged it to explode,” said Keshri. “I think every explosive we had aboard is piled in the engine room. We also put everything of value we could in the cargo bay.”

“Including some personal effects of the crew,” said Krum-Bahk. “Hopefully we can bring their families a little closure.”

Grepk nodded grimly. “If we can use the Dart to avenge them, even in part, that's better than leaving it in enemy hands. After all, even if this little kickstart attempt works, we likely won't have time to try and do the same to another ship.” He heaved a sigh. “Well, here we go.”

He pressed the button he'd rigged up, and the Gladius whirred to life.

“Ha!” he exclaimed triumphantly. “Okay, if we haven't been noticed yet we will be soon. Everyone strap in!”

Grepk leapt into the pilot's seat and fired up the engines. They sputtered briefly and then roared to life, and Grepk deftly maneuvered the ship within the hangar, facing the door and firing on it. It blasted off its hinges and the Gladius shot out into the aether.

Within the same train car, Farbin had rushed to his console to scramble the fighter drones he had at his disposal. He was shocked they had managed to remedy their disabled ship, but confident he could disable them again before they were out of range. However, the serpent drones would solve the problem far more efficiently. They were just leaving the hangar, located next to the one the fugitives had escaped from, when a massive explosion rocked the train car. The drones were destroyed. Infuriated, Farbin was reaching for the disruptor ray controls when the ship blinked out of existence. He stared stupidly at his console, searching it for answers. There was the strange anomalous reading again. The ship was reading as traveling faster than light.

Realization dawned on Farbin’s face. Seeing that the first ship was destroyed and could not be studied, he ran to the prison cells. Rushing into the last occupied cell, he grabbed the scruff of Cynop's neck and ripped him up into the air to face him. Having been in a restless semi-sleep at the moment, Cynop looked around in panic, his eyes locking onto Farbin’s in terror.

“How?” demanded Farbin, face twisted in rage. “How do you do it?”

“D-do what?” asked Cynop, utterly baffled by the situation.

Farbin leaned in, his long nose nearly touching Cynop's snout. “How do you travel faster than light?”

***

Stritka pushed his spectacles up his velvety snout and heaved a sigh as he walked down the stone steps of Griffon Keep. He hated that he had to come down so hard on the young Admiral, but this was not the time to anger the Astralbians. Executor Grak-Yurp had agreed a court martial was in order, but Skritka was secretly hoping things would go in Hunt’s favor.

If that hadn’t been enough, Grepk and his Marines had lost contact just as they were approaching the anomaly. Skritka had scrambled to make sure another ship, this one larger and accompanied by a complement of fighters, could be organized and sent to investigate.

A familiar street craft pulled up, and a moment later two school-age Talpidarians tumbled out of it, running up to Skritka and leaping into his arms.

“Oh, ho!” said Skritka with a laugh. “What brings you two here today?”

“Me,” said their mother, stepping out of the street craft. “They’re here to pick up their Grampa for dinner, remember?”

Skritka smacked his head melodramatically, much to the delight of the children.

“Of course!” he said. “Of course.”

He had utterly forgotten, but it was a happy surprise. He didn’t get to see his children and grandchildren nearly as much as he’d like, but that was the price of being Prime Minister. He’d be hitting his term limit in just about a year and couldn’t be happier about it.

“You forgot,” teased his daughter, pulling one of her sons off the pedestal of a statue he had been trying to climb.

Skritka gave her an honest smile with just a hint of sheepishness. “It’s been… an interesting time as of late.”

“Because of the rogue admiral?” she asked.

“The rogue- where did you hear that, Jrenka!?” asked Skritka in shock.

“Breaking news,” she said casually. “I’m a big-shot reporter now, remember?”

“That I can’t seem to forget,” said Skritka, rolling his eyes. “Well–and this is strictly off the record, missus big-shot reporter–but that situation is under control, and that admiral is not so much a ‘rogue’ as a young fool. In all seriousness, I do not want to see him unduly flogged in the court of public opinion before he has a chance to take the stand in an actual courtroom.”

“Oh, I see,” Jrenka said thoughtfully. “I will keep that in mind, Dad, I promise.”

“Just keep your coverage even keeled like you always do, darling,” insisted Skritka lovingly. “Now, let's-”

A tone sounded on Skritka’s comm, and his shoulders fell. It was the tone he’d programmed to sound when a call came in from Grak-Yurp. A call was better than an emergency patch-in that would allow Grak-Yurp to begin talking whether Skritka answered or not, but it was the difference between calling to let him know there was a bomb threat at Griffon Keep and calling to tell him a bomb had already gone off in Griffon Keep.

“Tell him I said ‘hi,’” said Jrenka patiently.

Skritka smiled wanly to his daughter and answered the call. “Executor?”

“I’m sorry, Skritka,” said Grak-Yurp. “I know I’m interrupting dinner plans.” So the Executor knew his schedule better than he did himself. Great. “But the Gladius got back into contact with us. They’re on their way back now, and they need to debrief you, me, and a few select admirals immediately.”

“Sounds like a long evening, then,” answered Skritka.

“I’m afraid so,” said Grak-Yurp. “Oh, and your daughter isn’t hearing any of this is she?”

“No,” said Skritka with a chuckle. “I have the privacy settings up and running. She does say ‘hi,’ though.”

“Good. Return the greeting, along with my apologies for the interrupted evening.”

“Of course, Executor,” answered Skritka, ending the call.

“Alright. Guess it’ll just be Mom and us tonight,” said Jrenka. “Remember Mom? You married her a few years back?”

Skritka nodded, smiling at the well-meant prod. “Yes, yes, quite a few years, in fact. Hopefully I’ll get to see her again before too long. The Executor says hi back, by the way.”

After hugging his disappointed grandsons and seeing his daughter off, he walked back up the stairs of the Keep. What the Marines had found out there, he couldn’t begin to imagine. He only hoped that whatever it was, it stayed where it was.

***

Criddek sat in the prison hospital, eating a serving of the slop they dared to call dinner. The food was bad enough, but it was served with tepid, chlorinated water, as well. Prior to being shot and arrested, Criddek couldn’t remember the last time he’d drank water. But now it was twice a day, with every lunch and dinner. Breakfast came standard with Krauqian bog fruit juice. A little sweetroot rum would have made that tolerable, but that was out of the question.

He spent most of his time kicking himself for not calling enough, “enough,” and running when his career as the “Puppetmaster” had earned him enough money to go anywhere he’d like and retire. But that was all gone now, and if he managed to get out he’d be on the run the rest of his life. He found that a preferable alternative to endless decades of water and juice.

Finally, a nervous-looking Talpidarian guard came into the room, relieving the stoic Raki who’d been watching over him the past four hours and bumping into him as he passed. The Raki growled out some complaint under his breath but left the room without turning back.

“What’s the matter, Griv?” asked Criddek. “You look nervous.”

“Look, Criddek, you know what I’m risking here,” said Griv.

“Do you want your cut of my stash or not?” asked Criddek.

“You better make good on that,” warned Griv.

Criddek nodded. “Just turn off of the suppressors.”

Griv nodded and darted over to the control panel on the wall, putting two keys in and turning them simultaneously. He’d stolen the second key off his Raki coworker when he bumped into him. He pressed the large red button and quickly silenced the alarm that was automatically triggered, punching in a passcode. The T-wave suppressors were turned off.

Criddek grinned. There was no stash. All his ill-gotten gains had been confiscated when he’d been arrested. But the plausible promise of dizzingly large sums of cash made people like Griv foolish. The Talpidarian guard stood still as Criddek’s T-waves burrowed into his mind. Fully under Criddek’s control, he walked over, standing by the bed as Criddek crawled out of it, placing handcuffs on his prisoner and then escorting him out of the room and out to the garage.