A Brotherhood of Crows.

Captain Pillion frowned heavily, and leaned closer to his XO.

“What do you mean they’ve ‘reappeared’, Lieutenant?” he said. His voice was incredulous to the point of being menacing, but it did little to conceal his surprise.

“I mean what I said, Captain,” replied Modaboah, levelly. “The men vanished, and then the reappeared.”

“How -” Pillion tried to keep his words from sounding harsh, “How, Lieutenant, do a dozen men go missing from a sealed airship and then reappear?”

Pillion and Modaboah were standing in a corner of the officer’s mess, a deck below Cerberus’ bridge. The XO had drawn the captain away from the command deck, to discuss a “delicate matter.” The mess, normally bustling with the senior officers at meal times, was quiet, and Pillion and Modaboah were alone, yet both spoke in barely hushed, conspiratorial whispers.

Modaboah presented Pillion with her holopad. “I do not know, sir. I’m reporting what was reported to me. Over the course of the last three days, 12 men were reported absent. This morning, all those men showed up their bunks. I had them all sent to medical for evaluation. The Chief Medical Officer reports that all the men showed signs of amnesia; they have no recollection of anything over the past seventy two hours.” She gestured at her holopad, “What’s more concerning, however, Captain, is this: the men all had the same recent surgical marks on their chests. You can see the images here. The Chief Medical Officer believes that something was inserted under the skin, but has been unable to ascertain what,”

Pillion swore softly under his breath. He felt a tremor in his hands. So soon? He had popped a Green pill less than an hour ago, followed by a Purple to make up for that extra Red he had taken this morning (his sleep has been thin, as if his waking mind had been struggling beneath a gelatinous film). He wasn’t due another pill for a few more hours at least. He began to fumble in his pocket for the pill case

“And the ship was thoroughly searched when these men were reported AWOL?” he said.

“Yes, sir. All inbound and outbound support vessels were also searched. There is one other thing, sir.”

“What?” snapped Pillion, apprehensively. Where was that damn box? He was sure it was in his right trouser pocket.

“The CMO noted in his report that all the men reported extreme hunger. For meat, sir.”

“And what’s so unusual about that?”

“They asked for it raw, sir.”

Pillion’s fishing hand found his pill box. The feeling of its smooth surface at his fingertips was calming in of itself. “Does the rest of the crew know?”

“No, sir. The men who went missing all shared the same head, sir. The CMO has them in isolation in the sickbay. As for the rest of the crew, they are aware the men went missing, but not of their return. I have instructed section chiefs to forbid discussion of this until we get to the bottom of things.”

“Indeed…” Pillion trailed off, and let his eye cast over the officers mess. Since Pillion made a point of taking his meals with the crew in their own mess hall, several decks below, he had little course to enter this room, and thus he was struck by how alien it seemed to him. Actual wooden tables. Real chairs, with small cushions, thin little things, but cushions nonetheless. No serving hatch here - meals were served at table to the officers. The men ate from steel trays with spaces carved into them for food to be deposited, sat on hard steel benches, bolted to the floor before hard steel tables. The Officers’ mess was not, perhaps, luxurious, but something about it made Pillion baulk. He noted Modaboah’s silence. “...something you wish to say, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir,” Modaboah moistened her lips. “Your...guest, sir. The one in your private quarters. I don’t like him, sir.”

Pillion felt a sense of unease. “What do you mean?”

“Sir, he’s been on this ship less than a week, and in that time a dozen men have gone missing, and reappeared suffering injuries. I can’t help but feel there’s a connection.”

The tremors again. He needed that damn pill. “Lieutenant - Gorcrow is not the only thing that has changed in that time. We’ve been chasing a meteorological phenomenon that, from what I can tell, can royally screw you up if you get too close. And then there is Dr Crucius to think about -”

“ - And I’m not overly fond of either of those things, either, Captain, as I am sure you know,” Modaboah was annoyed now. She only ever addressed him as Captain when he’d done something to upset her. “But it is Gorcrow that bothers me the most.”

“He holds information which is vital to the war effort -”

“Be that as it may, sir, I think he’s dangerous. Do you know what he’s been doing during his time here?”

Pillion hesitated. “I have men posted outside his quarters. They inform me he hasn’t left once.”

“That may be the case, sir, but how do you explain this?”

She handed him a crumpled flyer. He took it, conscious more than ever of the quivering of his hand. His vision was beginning to waver a little, as if his eyes were filling with tears. All he needed, really, was for the conversation to end, so he could swallow a Green, and perhaps a Blue, and then get back to business. He examined the flyer.

“ ‘The Cleansing Kiln’?” he read, quizzically.

“Yes, sir. A religious order. Getting rather popular in London these days. Rather unsavory in their beliefs. Talk of baptisms in ash, curing disease through sacrifice and flagellation. I have found a score or more of these leaflets on board, sir.”

Pillion handed the flyer back, dismissively. “You know, Lieutenant, that I don’t give a rat’s arse what creed or sky monster my men believe provided that they -”

“This is my point, sir,” said Modaboah, patiently. It was the second time she had interrupted him in as many minutes, and in any other crew member, he would have delivered a sharp rebuke, if not worse. “Under our obligations to Theological Justice, we keep a register of all faiths practised on board. The men know better than to lie when we ask. Not one person on this ship follows the teaching of the Cleansing Kiln.”

There was a headache beginning to form just behind Pillion’s right eye. He grimaced, and tried to hide it. The pain, the tremors were at the forefront of his mind, and while on some level he registered what Modaboah was saying, it seemed very distant to him, like music playing from a bar, heard from far away, at the end of a long desert road, blurred by the haze of a sweltering evening, in a dreamlike state on land leave…

He knew he’d fallen over long before he felt the impact of the cold floor of the deck upon the side of his head. The world transitioned, remarkably smoothly, from vertical to horizontal. It almost felt peaceful. Almost.

Hands were pattering against his chest. That distant tune has become repetitive heavy base notes er er er er “Sir! Sir!” He had a strange feeling his was smiling.

“...are they?” Modaboah, now clearer, barking at him, “Sir, where are they?”

Pillion didn’t speak, but made a little gesture, a movement he felt happen a long way below him. Hands now began rummaging in his pockets.

“Red or Green. Sir.” Modaboah again, “Red or Green? RED OR GREEN?”

He may have spoken. He may have not. The calm he felt was being interrupted by a gentle reminder of the small supernova behind his eye, where indescribable pressure was building and would force his eye from his socket. It would fall out and roll about on the floor, and regard him laconically as if to say “I see you now, old man.”

And then something was popped into his mouth and he swallowed out of reflex. The supernova faded, as if it had used up its fire, and retreated, leaving his right eye firmly in its socket. The numbness was gone, and he was aware, very aware, on the cold grill of metal that made up the deck pressed against his face, of the legs of the chairs and tables surrounding him like tree trunks. Slowly, he pulled himself into an upright sitting position, and breathed heavily, feeling the drugs do their work.

Modaboah was sitting on the deck next to him. In her hand, she held Pillion’s slim pillbox. She watched him, quietly..

“...You know?” he said, his voice weak and dry.

“Yes, sir,” said Modoboah softly.

“I see…” Pillion smiled to himself. He hadn’t sat on the floor like this since he was a cadet, shooting the shit with other cadets back at Sandhurst. They’d sprawl on the floor in a messhall not unlike this one, those that smoked chaining them like champs, talking about ships, battles, women. He stopped smiling when he realised that he’d been twice the age of every man he’d sat with on those day. “...Do the men -?”

“No, sir,” Modaboah turned the pill box over in her hands as she spoke. “The men don’t know. A few months ago, there were rumours. Jokes, mostly. I made sure they stopped.”

“Oh…”

A short silence passed between them. Modaboah continued to turn the pillbox over in her hands. Deep beneath them, Cerberus’s thauma drives hummed their immortal drone.

“Lieutenant, I -”

“For about a year, Sir, before you ask. That’s how long I’ve known. When you made me your XO, you told me that you needed me to be your eyes and ears on this ship. You told me you needed me to know everything that happened on this ship. That includes things you do. You’re careful with your dosing, but I know you obtain chems on the black market. I know you have a strict regime to keep up appearances.” She paused, considering her words, “What’s in the pills?”

Pillion half smiled, mirthlessly. “Lot’s of things. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Have you not been already?”

“I said nothing because I know that whatever it is that makes you take those pills doesn’t stop you from leading this crew. I’ve seen you lead these men into battle dozens of times. I’ve seen you lead them out of it again. I’ve seen you train with them, eat with them, I’ve seen you lead by being one of them. Those men need you. And if you need these,” she waved the pillbox, “to be you, then so be it.”

She held out the box to Pillion. As he reached out to take it, she jerked it slightly away from his fingertips. He caught her gaze.

“But…?”

“Gorcrow, sir. I don’t want him on the ship.”

“Lieutenant, Gorcrow is in possession of sensitive information which may be vital to the war effort -”

“Have you seen the information?”

“Yes,” said Pillion, but a voice in his mind added, in parenthesis: Did you? Did you really, Gregori? All you saw was a holopad and some images of Severance battleships. Did you see coordinates? Schematics? Combat reports? No, you didn’t, and you know that’s a fuck up. “I’ve seen it. Not all of it. But enough. Gorcrow knows the location of a fleet of experimental Severance vessels. If we can destroy them before they enter combat readiness, we’ll be dealing a major blow to the enemy.”

“And what does our visitor want in return for this information?”

“Access to Dr Crucius’ research.”

Modaboah glared at him, and continued to withhold the pillbox. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Pillion sniffed. “It’s a civilian matter.”

“A civilian matter which we were tasked with by the Prime Minister himself.”

“Still a civilian matter, Lieutenant. The war effort takes priority.”

He tried to take the pillbox back, but she kept it just out of his grasp. There was a look of unease in her eye. “This isn’t about the war, sir. This is about you.”

“I beg your pardon?” Pillion barked, angrily.

“You want to be the one to destroy those ships. That’s what this is about. It’s all because you miss combat.”

“Lieutenant, that is insubordinate -”

“Bullshit,” snarled Modaboah, taking Pillion aback with her rage. “You let that...thing onto our ship because you want a kill. You’ve been blind to everything that’s happened because you’re obsessed with getting back to the front!”

Pillion bristled and opened his mouth to reply when the pillbox bounced off his chest. She’d thrown it at him in disgust.

“I’ll have you in the brig for this -”

“Tell me I’m wrong.”

“I’ve been far too soft on you -”

“Then tell me I’m fucking wrong.”

Their gazes locked over the uneasy silence between them. Somewhere in the back of his head, Pillion wondered what the crew might think, if they knew their captain and XO were slumped on the floor of the officers mess, bickering like a young couple on the brink of relationship failure.The thought cooled his rage somewhat, and he suddenly felt very heavy in his chest.

Modaboah’s communicator chirped on her hip. Without taking her eye off Pillion, she tapped her earpiece and said “Yes,” tersely. She listened to the voice on the other end for a moment, then her scowl dissolved into a look of surprise. “Repeat that. What? Who authorised that?”

“What is it, Lieutenant?” Pillion asked, but Modaboah held up a hand, her finger pressed against her earpiece. “That’s impossible. I’m with him now. No, recall them at once!”

She killed the call, and looked at Pillion grimly. “Three dropships just left the hangar bay, with a full contingent of assault troops. They shocked away in the last few seconds.”

“What?” bellowed Pillion, “On whose orders?”

“Yours, sir.” replied Modaboah hollowly, “The command came through from your official quarters.”

Realisation dawned on Pillion like a fever. “Gorcrow.”

He caught Modaboah’s I told you so look, and decided he deserved it. “On me, Lieutenant,” he barked, and rose to his feet, pressing his own communicator. “Sergeant-at-Arms? I need a detachment of your marines. Now. Have them meet me and the XO at my formal quarters.”

He stormed from the officers’ mess, with Modaboah in tow, snapping her own orders to the Bridge. His fury, surging now on a wave of adrenaline, was playing havoc with the pill he’d taken a few moments ago, and he was acutely aware of the weight of the pill box in his pocket. He didn’t need another one. Yet, he added to him. He brushed it, instinctively, as he hand passed to the sidearm on his hip, which he unclipped.

They rounded a corner, boots loud on the deck, when a figure emerged and waved to him. He felt his lip curl.

“Ah, Captain,” Dr Crucius, back from whatever urgent errand had summoned him back to land the day before, approached with a languid ease. “I must have speak with you. Matter of the strictest importance. If I could just have a word -”

“You may have two, Doctor,” snapped Pillion as he passed the academic by, “‘Fuck’ and ‘off’.”

He took a brief moment of delight in Crucius’s expression, a tremendous blend of outrage and almost childish fury and pressed on for his formal quarters at a rate of knots.