Crush stood unsteadily before the screen on the Amalgam, her eyes looking blankly at the image of Yrinla.

  “Admiral Crush, do you hear me?” asked the elderly tree shaper. “King Hua has been killed.”

  “I hear you, Yrinla,” answered Crush. A sickening sensation ran through the glyphs that adorned her stone body, and she thought she might swoon. Stripes chittered softly on her shoulder, sensing her dismay.

  “Tell the FRF to halt mining operations immediately,” she continued. “Wind down all operations and meet me in orbit above Griffonia.”

  “Admiral, I don't think-”

  “Give the order, Yrinla,” said Crush. “Do it as a favor to me, and then stay on Cradle if that's what you wish. But please, give the order.”

  Yrinla looked at her seriously. “You have been away too long already, Crush. Come back home.”

  “I have done enough to Cradle,” she replied. “It is time I moved on, for everyone’s sake.”

  ***

  Raivyn held on to Jasken’s middle, hugging him tightly like a daughter hugging her father, her head resting on his shoulder. The morning breeze whipped the loose strands of hair that hung over her face as Ol’ Blue soared over Kerucester towards Griffon Keep.

  “So, how’s Mairen?” asked Raivyn, yelling to make herself heard over the wind. “Is she safe?”

  “Yes,” replied Jasken. “She’s still back on the farm helping tend to the young, sick, and elderly. Says she’s done her time in the military and she’s going to look after civilians for a while. We’ve got a sizable camp of survivors living with us at the moment. The Drakmundi hit the cities hardest. We made out alright out in the country.”

  “I’m glad to hear that,” said Raivyn.

  The flight felt too quick. Though hanging on for dear life wasn’t as relaxing as lying in a bed may have been, she was dreading her upcoming conversation with the Prime Minister. Before she felt settled in, Ol’ Blue was descending below the tops of the skyscrapers and landing in front of the stocky stone Keep. Jasken dismounted and helped Raivyn down.

  “Skritka’s not so bad,” said Jasken, a smile playing at his lips somewhere below his thick white mustache. “And Hunt’s the one in trouble, not you. So just answer his questions honestly and respectfully and you’ll be fine. You always handled yourself just fine when you were under my command, and I expect you’ll continue to do the same.”

  “Thanks, Jasken,” said Raivyn, tears welling her in eyes. She was too exhausted for words, and threw her arms around Jasken’s neck and squeezed him tight.

  He returned the hug, patting her on the back. Looking to the Keep’s front door, or at least to the gaping hole where the door once stood, he saw Skritka coming towards them.

  “Specialist Raivyn,” he said curtly. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”

  She pulled away from Jasken, her eyes still blurry with tears. She wiped them away with the back of her hand, feeling like a silly child. Jasken looked seriously at Skritka, his eyes pleading.

  “It’s been… an eventful day, Specialist,” he said in a softer tone. “Especially considering the day has only just started. Let’s find you a place to lay down for a while. Of course, there’s still much to discuss, but it can wait until we’ve all had a little time to recover.”

  Raivyn nodded. “Thank you, Prime Minister. I- I think that’d be for the best.”

  “Admiral Jasken, would you care to come along as well?” asked Skritka. “It would be good to have the leader of the militia talk with the other military officers.”

  “I sincerely hope my work is about done here, Prime Minister,” answered Jasken. “But I’ll happily speak with the officers.”

  Jasken whistled to Ol’ Blue and the griffon took off, looking after himself until he was called for again. The three walked back into the Keep, Raivyn doing her best to keep her head up and her steps even. The sooner she could get to that promised bed, the better.

  ***

  Hunt sat in the Admiral's chair on the bridge, staring over his steepled fingertips at Vanbrook, D'Jarric, Reclan, Doc, the RTS Agent, and the surprisingly tame Drakmundi beast soldier.

  “Well,” said the Admiral after a long silence. “Perhaps one of you would like to explain what's going on here?”

  “We are following the will of the Progenitor,” said D'Jarric. “He led us here, and will see us home.”

  Hunt stared at him a while longer. “I believe you,” he said at length. “But I'm not sure we'll get buy-in from the whole crew. And I doubt that whatever judge I'm hauled before will take ‘the Progenitor told me to do it' as a viable reason to ignore a direct command from the Prime Minister. I'll be frank. I think what I just did to my crew, ‘press-ganging them into a crusade’, as Syden put it, was unfair to the point of cruelty. I'm going to need something to tell the crew at large that will keep everyone united. Lying feels like a reasonable strategy, but it will not hold up and would only add to my considerable list of sins. So, D'Jarric, what shall I tell the crew?”

  “As you suggest,” answered the Solaran. “We tell them the truth. We are on a mission for the Progenitor.”

  “But what mission!?” implored Hunt. “What is our goal here?”

  “To serve the Progenitor,” said D'Jarric.

  Hunt’s head fell into his hands. Rubbing his eyes, he looked back up at the obtuse Solaran prince. “That doesn't really help us here, D'Jarric.”

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  “As someone who's known D'Jarric for a long time now,” offered Vanbrook, “you're probably not going to get anything else out of him.”

  D'Jarric shrugged, not offering any rebuttal.

  “We talked to Fremig here briefly with Raivyn's help,” said Darvik, jerking a thumb over his shoulder towards the Drakmundi standing behind him. “He said we could defeat the Drakmundi entirely, but only by traveling to their world. The portal was the quickest way.”

  “That’s something to work with,” said Hunt. “I’ll need some details, though.”

  “I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got,” said Darvik with a shrug. “Raivyn is the only one who’s mastered the whole speaking-beyond-language-barriers thing.”

  “And where is Raivyn?” asked Hunt.

  “She stayed behind to fight the Drakmundi on Griffonia,” said Vanbrook ruefully. “In addition to her language barrier work around, she’s pretty good at wiping out beast soldiers. She couldn’t leave Griffonia knowing how much they needed her help.”

  “Of course,” said Hunt. He looked the Drakmundi beast soldier steadily in the eyes. “I guess you’ll have to learn Talpaertan. I sincerely hope you’re a quick study.”

  Fremig put a clawed, long-fingered hand on Darvik’s shoulder and said, “friend.”

  “Well, it’s a start,” said Hunt with a sigh. “Alright, Talon Squad–if that’s what I’m meant to call you–go back to your quarters for now. I need to talk to my officers. I’ll be making an announcement shortly.”

  ***

  Raivyn woke up to a splitting headache that was softened somewhat by the fact that she was in a dark, warm bed tucked away in the Undercity. It wasn’t uncommon for her to deal with this kind of psychic hangover, but she had really overdrawn on her reserves in yesterday’s battle. She tried to roll over and get some more rest, but found herself unable to. Between the headache and the fact that she needed to answer for Hunt’s actions, she knew she wasn’t going to get any more rest.

  Walking out the door, she was greeted not by soldiers or guards but by some of the Prime Minister’s aides.

  “Ah, Specialist Raivyn,” said one of them, a friendly young Dromean female. “Good to see you awake. If you’d like, you can join the Prime Minister for breakfast.”

  “For breakfast?” asked Raivyn. “I guess I didn’t sleep as long as I thought.”

  “Nearly twenty-four hours, Ma’am,” said the aide.

  “Oh, that sounds closer to it,” said Raivyn. “Um, lead the way then, if you would.”

  The aide nodded amicably and trotted off down the hall, Raivyn following close behind. She was surprised that they were traveling deeper into the Undercity rather than back up to the surface, but she remained silent for the duration of the trip.

  “Raivyn,” said Skritka as she entered a small dining room in the lowest levels of the Underkeep. He was sipping on tea and wading through a mountain of reports on his comms device. He put the device aside and looked up at her. “I’m glad you could meet me for breakfast. You prefer tavan blossom to rakka, do I have that right? I’ll admit I checked your file for that information. Well, happened upon it when I was reviewing your files, more precisely. Please, sit down. And remember, you’re not in trouble, at least not yet.”

  “But everyone I care about is,” said Raivyn.

  “Looks that way,” said Skritka. “No time for small talk, then. That’s alright. I don’t really need another fluffy, useless exchange. Being a politician, I already have those in spades.”

  Raivyn sat down, rubbing her temples and squeezing her eyes shut as an aide placed a steaming cup of tavan blossom tea on the table in front of her.

  “Thank you,” she said, turning to the aide. “If it’s not too much to ask, could I get some painkillers?”

  “Absolutely, no problem,” said the aide. “What kind in particular?”

  “The strongest you have that I don’t need a prescription for, I suppose,” said Raivyn.

  The aide smiled and shuffled off.

  “Look, this is all official, on the record, however you want to describe it, but it’s also just a conversation between you and me,” said Skritka. “You’re not under arrest, and I’m not putting you in a room with detectives and bright lights. I just want to know why one of the Griffon Republic’s most promising admirals just took off with some of our most well-trained troops in one of our most expensive and tactically important ships into unknown enemy territory in a time of war against orders.”

  “In a word,” said Raivyn, sipping her tea. “D’Jarric.”

  Skritka nodded. “He’s always been a kind of unpredictable element. But he may have crossed the line this time.”

  Raivyn cleared her throat. “I understand that Admiral Hunt and Talon Squad, myself included–at least as an accomplice–disobeyed your direct orders, Prime Minister-”

  “Would you like to revise that statement, Specialist?” asked Skritka pointedly.

  “Not really, Prime Minister. I want you to understand exactly my state of mind and opinion on the matter. D’Jarric has never led us wrong before, and he believed quite firmly that taking the Wingspan through that portal was important. We had some admittedly vague intel from Fremig, the beast soldier being held prisoner here, that the Drakmundi could be crippled if their homeworld could be infiltrated.”

  “And where is ‘Fremig’ now, Specialist,” asked Skritka.

  “Aboard the Wingspan, sir,” answered Raivyn.

  Skritka hung his head. “You’re not making this easy, Specialist Raivyn.”

  “I’m sorry, sir,” she replied. “I’m just trying to be honest. If you have to lock me up over it, I’m sure I’ll be vindicated in the long run.”

  “That’s very bold of you, Specialist,” said Skritka, eying her sternly. “But we will be making use of your psychic abilities in our upcoming counter offensive, whatever form that takes. Since Talon Squad took one of his agents along with them, you’ll be joining Agent Trebor for the time being.”

  Raivyn looked across the table at Skritka, trying to gauge whether there was any sadistic glee in the Prime Minister’s eyes. She couldn’t find any.

  “Yes, Sir,” she said.

  “Good,” said Skritka. “Now we’ll go over the rest of the incident. Leave out nothing, please.”

  Food was brought to the table. Scrambled eggs with a semi-sweet spiced pastry wafted scents of herbs and butter that Raivyn found tempting on some level that felt very distant to her conscious self. The painkillers she’d requested were set down next to the food in a small paper cup. She suspected she was going to need a lot more of them over the next weeks or months. Hopefully not years.

  ***

  “Attention all personnel,” said a voice over the Wingspan’s public comms. “This is Admiral Hunt. I have an important announcement. As you may be aware, we traveled through the Drakmundi’s portal, which they call a dragon’s maw.”

  Hunt drew a breath and steadied himself before continuing. His officers stood around him on the bridge. Dekken, his chief engineer, looked on with stifled disapproval, his antennae twitching. Triflin, his Communications Officer, stood by quietly, his face a mask of indifference. Drixen, Commander of his fighter squadrons, held his arms crossed, but his whole body looked alive with electricity. The man seemed to live for danger, and had flown back aboard with what fighters would follow him just before the jump. Two armed guards, warned in advance about the announcement, stood at the doorway to the bridge.

  “We have now jumped away from their base of operations and are recharging our shields in empty aether,” continued Hunt. “We are on a mission to stop the Drakmundi threat to the Republic, and that mission calls for bold action. I know none of you consented to this particular mission, and it was not fair to draw you into it without explanation, but there was no time-”

  There was a commotion at the door. Hunt paused to see what was going on. There was a short burst of shouting and screaming, then a crowd of sailors stormed the bridge, holding lengths of pipe and other improvised weapons. A couple of them now had sidearms taken from the guards they’d knocked unconscious.

  “It’s all a lie!” screamed Syden, leading the group and brandishing a sidearm wildly, “The Solaran is manipulating us, it’s all a lie!”

  Hunt released the public comms button, deeply regretting that he’d lost the presence of mind to do so before Syden had broadcast his message to the entire crew. He reached for his own sidearm but left it in the holster, fearful that pulling it would set Syden off.