The Gladius soared through busy skies as it came down into the airfield by the Depot. Grepk, Krum-Bahk, Keshri, and Trall stumbled out, nerves shot. Krum-Bahk was surprised by the way the emotions slammed into him once he stopped long enough to think about it for a moment.
“How are we supposed to beat these guys?” he asked aloud.
“Same way we just did,” said Grepk. “We'll outsmart them by the end, or just wear them down by refusing to give up to whatever it is they want. We managed to throw off the Astralbian yoke, and we'll never let another be put on us.”
“What if they just want to kill us?” asked Trall. “Um, just asking.”
“We make them regret the attempt,” snarled Keshri.
The corner of Krum-Bahk’s mouth turned up slightly at his friend's defiance, only to fall again when he saw three RTS agents walking a prisoner into the Depot. He charged over towards them.
“Hey! You're not dismissed, Marine,” said Grepk, not entirely lacking in good humor.
But Krum-Bahk didn't hear him. The blood was rushing in his head as he ran down his prey.
“Darvik!” he called the name out like a challenge.
The three agents and their prisoner all turned to him. Darvik kept his face still, though his guts were squirming at the sight of his old friend. Or former old friend.
“I heard you were working with the Witch Hunters,” said Krum-Bahk, using the unflattering nickname for the Republic Telekinetic Service. “I just figured you were locked away working in an office somewhere, not out on the streets.”
“My agent's business is none of yours,” said Trebor sternly. “Good day, Marine.”
Grepk trotted up next to Krum-Bahk. “Krum, what are you doing? We've got to report to… oh.” He saw Darvik and the scene suddenly made sense.
His eyes trained on the ground, the murderer turned away, following his commanding officers back into the Depot.
“Sorry, Cap,” said Krum-Bahk. “Just, uh, didn't expect to see… him.”
“Yeah, I get it,” said Grepk, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. “Let's go make our report, okay?”
“Yeah,” said Krum-Bahk. His eyes lingered on the closed door as he followed Grepk back towards the others.
***
The mood on the Wingspan was tense after the news went out that Griffonia was under threat of invasion. Everyone aboard was ready to fight for the Republic, but they always assumed the home front would be safe. The idea that their loved ones might be in harm's way was unsettling to say the least.
Vanbrook was wandering around the ship aimlessly to clear his mind, and found himself by Hunt’s office. As he understood it, the Admiral was holed up on a kind of house arrest. He lifted his hand to knock on the door, then hemmed and hawed for a moment. Letting out a deep breath, he committed, rapping lightly on the door. He heard movement in the room and shortly after the door opened.
Hunt was still clean shaven and well put together. Somehow Vanbrook had expected him to be a disheveled mess.
“I thought it was a bit early for lunch,” said Hunt. “What are you doing here, Vanbrook?”
“Just, uh, in the neighborhood, so to speak,” he said lamely.
“Come on, you can gloat if you want,” said Hunt. “More than likely I’m going to be discharged, and there's no reason not to.”
“What? Why would I do that?” asked Vanbrook, offended. “Honestly, I just wanted to say.. well, I would have done the same thing if I were you.”
“Okay,” said Hunt. In some ways, that was the cruelest thing the man could have said, but somehow Hunt knew that wasn’t his intent. “I, uh, was in the middle of reading something.”
“Oh, sure,” said Vanbrook. “Carry on. I'll see you later.”
Shaking his head as the door closed behind him, Vanbrook trotted off down the hall. He ought to find Raivyn, and figured he would soon enough if he followed the stench of Lawbine’s treachery.
***
Jrenka was putting the finishing touches on a story about a corrupt city official found siphoning funds when the newsflash came over her comms device. Prime Minister Skritka was about to do a press release.
“So that's why you couldn't come to dinner,” she said, thinking back on her father's last-minute cancellation. She gathered her coat and bag and made her way to the steps of Griffon Keep, just a few blocks from her office.
“Jrenka?” asked her editor as she passed by.
“Already on it, boss,” she said.
“Thanks, Jrenka,” he said, waving goodbye.
Her first instinct was to call up some of her sources in Griffon Keep, though she doubted she'd get much out of them right before a press release.
Milling around the crowd of journalists while the podium was being set up, she ran into Tred-Nah, a grumpy toad of a female Krauqian.
“Here to see Daddy make a speech, little one?” she asked.
“What are you here for at all? Your rag doesn't really need silly things like facts and quotes,” she shot back.
Tred-Nah harumphed and wandered off, looking for a better angle to take a bad picture of the presenters from. Jrenka shook her head. She'd been a journalist since before her father was Prime Minister and planned to be one long after his term was up. She disclosed the relationship in every article that had the slightest whiff of conflict. Still, it was an admittedly awkward situation.
Someone walked up to the podium at the top of the stone steps of the Keep and announced, “People of Griffonia, I present Prime Minister Skritka.”
The Prime Minister stepped up and greeted the crowd with a solemn nod. “People of Griffonia, I have grave news for you today. Some weeks ago we lost contact with one of our System Watch vessels, the Dart. The Marine vessel the Gladius was sent to investigate, and determined that the crew of the Dart had been captured, and likely killed, by an unknown enemy force.
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“Little else is known at this time, but understand that the Houses of Parliament and the Griffonian Armed Forces are at the ready in case this enemy would dare to push their aggression further. The forces on Griffonia are on high alert and positioned to intercept, and the call has gone out both to the other planets of the Republic and to our allies.
“The people of Griffonia are no strangers to hardship, and I fully believe we are prepared to deal with any threat, though I pray this threat would be a minor one. We will keep the public informed as the situation develops.
“I am able to take a few questions at this time.”
What followed was a jumble of raised hands and shouted questions.
“What could have been done to detect this threat earlier?”
“What kind of ‘enemy?’ Astralbian?”
“Are you considering evacuating the planet?”
Knowing that his answers, no matter how thorough and truthful, would never be enough he called on the first journalist to ask a question.
***
“Lord Wyven,” said Lady Rewna with a stiff bow to her membranous display screen. “We have interesting news.”
“Hopefully good news, this time,” said the warlord. Despite the fact that he was safely located on Astralbia, tucked away in what may have been one of the grandest star trees ever grown, he wore his full military regalia; a long green cape and shining heavy plate armor. He even wore a circlet bejeweled with the death crystals of his ancestors, a tacit claim to the throne.
“Yes, sir,” she answered, abashed by his deliberate dig. She’d been a loyal soldier to Wyven and hoped it would earn her a bit more leniency on the rare occasion that she fell short of expectations. It wasn’t as though she could control the Griffonian Navy’s actions, regardless. Without clearance to engage with them in combat, all they had to do was step forward and she would be forced to retreat. She dismissed her wounded pride and continued. “A foreign hostile has appeared near Griffonia. The Republic has its own problems to deal with now and is likely to shrink back towards its own territory.”
“That is good news indeed,” said Wyven thoughtfully. “What do we know about this new player?”
“As a certainty, nothing more than what I’ve said,” admitted Rewna. “But judging by the troop movement we’ve already seen, the Griffonians appear to consider the threat to be serious.”
“Interesting,” said Wyven, nodding in thought. “It changes nothing in the short term, but it will definitely figure into our plans going forward. For now, stay close to the Blue Griffon Fleet, and don’t miss any opportunity to learn more about this new potential ally threatening the Republic. Our day will come again.”
“By my ancestors, I will see that it does,” said Rewna.
“Very well,” said Wyven. He ended the communication.
***
Dekken walked out of the engine room scrubbing his jointed, armored hands with the scrub brush he kept on him for such occasions. He had precious little time to get his hands dirty these days, but he managed to get a moment to check on things and had ended up elbow deep in an oil change before he knew it. He breathed a sigh of relief, just happy to have gotten some time away from the chaos.
He made his way up the stairs that led to the upper decks and then the bridge, pocketing his scrub brush and looking over his hands once more to make sure they were clean enough that he wouldn’t get the command console grimey. He hoped to be passing it off to someone else in the near future.
Just as he was walking through the upper level to access the bridge tower, a wild-eyed sailor ran up to him, grabbing him by the shoulders. He was a Human, and a private first class by the insignia he wore.
“We gotta get back to Griffonia!” he shouted in a manic voice. “My wife and kids are there, we gotta get back to them!”
“We’ll be back soon enough,” said Dekken in what he hoped was a calming voice. “We have work to do, sailor. Now get back to your post, or, if you’re off duty, hit the gym or showers or whatever you-”
“We gotta get back there NOW!” insisted the sailor, his brows furrowing as his features darkened.
“Sailor, this is your last warning,” said Dekken menacingly.
The sailor hauled back his fist and was about to let it fly when a second sailor ran up from behind Dekken and tackled the first to the ground.
“What’s this all about, Syden?” asked the second sailor as he grappled with the first.
“He’s just gonna let ‘em die!” shouted Syden. “He’s just gonna stay out here in the aether and let ‘em die!”
The ruckus had gotten the attention of the guards on that deck of the ship, and they both came jogging around a corner, each of them grabbing one of the wrestling sailors by the shoulder and pulling them apart. The second sailor yielded immediately, but Syden kept struggling.
“You,” said Dekken, pointing at the second man. “What’s going on here?”
“Private First Class Drilby, sir, and this is PFC Syden,” he answered. “Syden’s pretty green, and he’s had a hard time being away from his wife and kid, who are my sister and nieces, as it happens. The announcement, about the… whatever it is? It shook him up bad. I- I thought he was okay after we talked about it.”
Dekken’s face fell. He could hardly blame the kid, but he couldn’t let it go, either.
“Guards, throw PFC Syden in the brig and see if that cools him off some,” said Dekken. “Drilby, you’re free to go. Get back to wherever you’re supposed to be.”
“Yes, sir,” said Drilby with a salute. However, he stood there as his brother-in-law walked away between the two guards, head hung low and shackles on his wrist.
Dekken could see he wanted to say something, but felt like indulging him was the wrong move. “Back to your station, sailor.”
“Y-yes, sir,” said Drilby, this time trotting off down the hall.
Dekken sighed heavily, his antennae drooping with weariness as he climbed the stairs to the bridge.
***
The portal flickered as the destination was changed from Drakmund, where the Council and his people were, to an armada world, where the Drakmundi fleets were kept. One by one, a dozen ships came out of the portal. Each was a long, low-lying train of black metal, tower-like cars much like the one Farbin captained. But these were slightly smaller and bristling with weapons. Each was housed in a purple bubble of electromagnetic energy and had a command car, a gun car, a hangar car and a livery car, prepared to wage war in the aether or clayside. Two of them, one in each group of six, had an additional troop car containing a division of warriors. The first six pulled off to Farbin’s right, and the second to his left. Two full fleets at his command. It was a heady feeling. If he did well, he may be selected for promotion to the next level. A few more promotions and he could finally live among the greatest of his people, and discard more of the itchy, fallible flesh that still tormented him.
“Fleets, we will take this world for our people,” said Farbin in his native tongue, addressing all twelve ships through the communications system. “Onward, to the fall of Griffonia!”
He ignited the engine system, engaging the electromagnetic bubble around his ship and launching it through space, traveling nearly at the speed of light, his fleet following on his heels.
***
Trilia stood over the arena on Koomia, her long, slender face a passive mask as she watched a champion wrench their sword from a fallen challenger. She nodded her satisfaction as the champion, an abnormally tall and barrel-chested Talpidarian male in dark purple robes and red and black face paint, threw the challenger’s corpse on the altar of Koo L'Koom.
One of her advisors, a fellow Astralbian, came up the steps of the box to speak with her. She gestured to the guards to let her advisor through. “What do you have?”
“The Republic is under siege, High Priestess” he said. “They are pulling back towards their homeworld.”
“Interesting,” said Trilia, arching an eyebrow. “Very interesting.”