As he paced on the bridge of the Wingspan, Hunt constantly cast his gaze towards the rougher country to the south. That was where Talon Squad had disappeared to when they failed to check in. Hunt had sent a second ATUC to investigate, sending D’Jarric along with a number of sailors. He imagined he could make out the vehicles in the distance. In fact, when he used his binoculars, he could see them clearly. But D’Jarric and the sailors had gone into the brush and he had lost sight of them.

  "We've got something," came D’Jarric’s voice over the comms. "Looks like some exosuits."

  "How many?" asked Hunt.

  "A total of three," answered D’Jarric.

  Hunt shook his head. "They’ve got to be Talon Squad’s, but why would they leave them behind?"

  “It appears that there was a scuffle," said D’Jarric.

  "With who?" asked Hunt. “Fremig indicated the locals were peaceful.”

  "I believe he said ‘mostly peaceful,’” corrected D’Jarric.

  Hunt rolled his eyes but said nothing.

  “If I'm reading these signs properly, it looks like there was an ambush," continued D’Jarric.

  "Can you make out which way they went?" asked Hunt.

  "No, sir," answered D’Jarric. "I'm not much of a tracker, and they seem to have covered their tracks pretty well."

  "Understood," said Hunt with a sigh. It was a shame Kwa-Kwa and her scouts were still back on Griffonia. "See if you can bring back those exosuits. I know they're going to weigh quite a bit on this planet, but if you can, load them up into their ATUC and bring it all back."

  "Right away, sir," said D’Jarric.

  "We’ll have to send out a shuttle to scout the area under cover of night,” said Hunt. “I don’t want to risk discovery. Or any more disappearances.”

  ***

  Hrake walked nervously into the officers' mess. Dhraka was already there, sitting with her cup of morning tea. He had made sure that the rest of the officers would be absent that morning. Each of them had given him a knowing smile when he made the request. He steadied his hand before he grabbed his tea, so that the shaking wouldn't cause any spills. He sat down next to Dhraka.

  "Good morning, Hrake," she said, her brow furrowing as she watched his uncharacteristic fidgeting. "You seem… distracted."

  Hrake paused for a moment, gathering his strength, and breathed out hard. "Dhraka, I have known you for many years," he said. "You have become my closest friend as well as my most trusted officer.”

  She looked up at him with a mix of hope and anxiety.

  “I made a mistake," Hrake continued, "when I asked you to be my first mate. I should have asked you then to be my wife."

  Dhraka smiled, and her heart fluttered with the unexpected but wholly welcome sentiment.

  Hrake stood up, took each of her hands in his, and lifted her up to stand before him.

  "Dhraka," he said, "I offer you this quest for your love. I will fly with you into this battle. And should we survive and return to Hruduk victorious, I will take you as my bride. Do you accept this as my marital quest?"

  "Yes," said Dhraka. "A thousand times yes. But I will hold you to this one change. That whether we are victorious or not, you will still take me as your bride."

  "So be it," said Hrake with a smile. "May Providence shine on our union."

  ***

  Talon Squad was hiking deep into the hills, surrounded by the small, rabbit-like warriors of Hest. They were on a world with a gravity nearly twice that of Griffonia, and Vanbrook was beginning to feel it. Just when he thought he was going to collapse, the company stopped. The little warriors took strips of cloth and signaled for their giant captives to kneel down. They grudgingly complied and found themselves being blindfolded.

  They were shuffled along a bit further through some thick brush that perennially poked them in their shoulders and forehead. Vanbrook was sure he heard the diminutive warriors laughing at him.

  The torment of the jagged branches was followed by the still coolness of a cave. Their captors pushed them mercilessly forward, but the path became straight and sure, descending gently as they went.

  The high-pitched barking voices of the little warriors increased in volume and number, and Vanbrook could feel a cozy warmth. Through his blindfold, he could see that the darkness of the cave had given way to a warmly-lighted area. He was poked and prodded some, and eventually understood the command to kneel once more.

  When he did, the blindfold was torn from his eyes and revealed a warrior grizzled with age yet still taut with muscle. He sat on a chair made of wood, bone, and leather. A mass of piled furs served as a cushion.

  Unlike the other males Vanbrook had seen, this one's sideburns met under his chin, forming a full beard that reached down to his belt. His ears were torn in a couple of places, his eyes were small, hard, and glittering with malicious intelligence. A row of skulls adorned the back of his throne, impaled on sharp pikes. The skulls featured prominent incisors and Vanbrook surmised they must belong to the same species as the king and his warriors. Draped on the wall behind the king was a tanned hide that looked uncomfortably similar to the one that still covered Fremig's living form.

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  The diminutive warlord smiled, threw his arms up into the air, and barked out a short speech.

  "He says the soft giants must be tired from their long journey," Fremig translated, "and that we shall join him at his table." Fremig motioned behind them, and the group turned to see a long table set out with a feast of dried fruits, various salads, and pitchers of some kind of beverage.

  The king, or whatever title he held, stood up from where he lounged on his pile of furs and walked to the head of the table, motioning for the others to join him. Shortly, Doc came into the room, though he was tethered and clearly being led against his will.

  "Oh, it’s good to see you up and walking," said Vanbrook.

  "Likewise," said Doc, calming down and allowing the warriors to cut his bonds and lead him to a seat at the table. "You better believe I fought pretty hard when I woke up, but I'm afraid I'm no match for these guys if I don't have any weapons on me."

  Vanbrook nodded. "Pretty tough for their size," he said. "Not surprising given the environment they live in."

  Doc nodded. "So, prisoner-guests once again?" he asked.

  Vanbrook nodded. "Looks that way. Not sure how I feel about our host, but I always have preferred feasting to torture."

  They sat down to their meal, and when the king began to eat, they joined him. The food was rough and scrubby. The greens had a pine-like flavor and the berries were tart and astringent.

  The king looked suspiciously at Doc, murmuring something to Fremig about him. Fremig responded in slow, broken words. The king nodded suspiciously.

  "He asks why they refuse his hospitality," said Fremig. "I explained that his kind do not and cannot consume food as we do. He seems to understand this, but it displeases him."

  Darvik snorted, continuing to chew his rough salad. Eventually, he picked up his cup, sniffed the contents, and set it back down with a disappointed look on his face. Suddenly, the king slammed his furry fist onto the table and pointed accusingly at Darvik, chittering away angrily.

  Darvik cast a surly look at Fremig. "Tell the king that I appreciate his hospitality, but that my kind does not consume alcohol," he said.

  Fremig tried to relay this, but the king stood up, stretching to his full height and approaching Darvik, who also stood, staring down at the pint-sized warlord. Darvik was twice his height, even including the king's upright ears, but he still didn't like his chances in a toe-to-toe match.

  Fremig moved quickly to get between the king and his newfound friend.

  "Tell him I used to drink," said Darvik. "Tell him I drank enough for three lifetimes and I won't drink anymore."

  "Just drink it," Vanbrook said moodily.

  "Never again," Darvik seethed.

  Vanbrook rolled his eyes. "Hopefully you only get yourself killed," he said.

  Meanwhile, Fremig had relayed the message as best he could. The king nodded, eyeing Darvik strangely, but not unfriendly. He gave another small speech and returned to his chair after giving an order to one of the attending soldiers.

  Fremig turned to Darvik. “The king said, ‘Great warriors drink great amounts of wine.’ He says–and bear in mind I am paraphrasing–that there is no glory in abstaining, but no dishonor in forbearance.”

  “Something tells me you said it prettier than him,” said Darvik, shooting Fremig a dubious look.

  Fremig smiled but said nothing. The former beast soldier’s mastery of Talpaertan had gone from a point of pride for Darvik as his teacher to an annoyance.

  Shortly thereafter, a simple mug of water was brought to Darvik. He lifted it up towards the king and took a long draught.

  ***

  News of Dhraka and Hrake's engagement spread like wildfire aboard the Drihn. Raivyn had been truly happy to hear the news. However, she couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy. In this time of war and uncertainty, she was separated from Vanbrook and it stung. She found herself wandering the halls of the Drihn until she reached the shooting range.

  Walking past the entrance, she saw that Lawbine was inside, practicing his gunplay. She stepped in and leaned against the wall, watching him for a moment. He was standing by an Army officer Raivyn recognized as Captain Milna. She was a lanky redhead with a northern plains drawl and a revolver on her hip. She was laughing at Lawbine, slapping him playfully on the shoulder.

  "No, no, I'm serious,” said Lawbine with a laugh. “Now watch this." He set the console to record the speed of his reaction time and had a new target posted downrange.

  Handing Milna the control, he said, "You hit start whenever, and we’ll see just how quick a shot I am."

  "Oh no, I've got a better idea," she said, fitting her own lane to judge quickdraws. She looked around and saw Raivyn watching in the distance.

  "You’re Specialist Raivyn, right?” she said sweetly.

  “That’s me,” answered Raivyn. She felt embarrassed, as though she had been caught eavesdropping.

  “Would you mind coming over here and helping us settle something?"

  "Hey Rai,” said Lawbine in a friendly tone.

  “Oh, you know each other?” asked Milna inquiringly.

  “We have a history,” said Raivyn. She cringed internally even as Lawbine cringed externally.

  "I see,” said Milna, looking back and forth between the two for a moment. “Well you’re old friend here seems to think he’s quite the gunslinger, but I plan to put him in his place. When you click this button, it'll start the timer. I want to see if I can outdraw our Aeratan friend here."

  Raivyn grinned weakly and took the device. The two gunslingers turned back towards their targets. She stood for a moment, wrestling with the strange feelings that were welling up in her chest, then pressed the button. Immediately, there was the sound of gunfire as the two drew and fired.

  "Oh, look at that," said Lawbine, whose speed was just a hair above the Captain's.

  "Well, sure," laughed Milna, "but I think accuracy should count for something." She pointed to her target. Her slug had gone right through the bullseye, whereas Lawbine's two marks were both slightly off.

  Lawbine laughed. "We were going for speed, not accuracy. That's well within the vitals of just about any enemy I might have been firing at."

  "You both did very well," said Raivyn, handing the console back. “But I’m afraid I must be going.” She wanted to get out as quickly as possible without being impolite.

  "Thanks for the help, Specialist," said Captain Milna in her saccharine voice.

  "Not a problem," said Raivyn, already on her way out the door. She spent her walk back towards her quarters kicking herself for feelings she couldn’t quite put her finger on.