A Brotherhood of Crows.

The sergeant-at-arms was a tall Afrikaans man by the name of Jessup. He was a veteran of the Botswana and Uganda campaigns, and it showed in the cragged toughness of his features. He greeted Pillion and Modaboah outside the captain’s official quarters, flanked by four Commonwealth Marines. Each man carried an assault carbine across his chest, and was clad in stout battle gear, with thin bars of their light combat exosuits making their bodies appear cartoonishly big.

Jessup saluted curtly with one hand. The other rested on the snub-nosed submachine gun in his chest holster, a weapon favoured by those who’d fought in the cramped, door to door battles, when the Commonwealth had deployed its expeditionary force to put down growing nationalist militancy in Kampala. “Captain. Lieutenant,”

“Is he in there?” Pillion returned the salute perfunctorily.

“Yes sir. Hasn’t left. My men have been stationed on the door all day.”

“And your men -?”

“My best, sir,” Jessup nodded at the marines. “I served with them personally. They will be discrete.”

“Good,” against the burning haze of his own rage, Pillion knew the last thing his crew needed was to discover the presence of Gorcrow - or what he’d done - on Cerberus via a pitched gunbattle. “We will the detain the passenger and take him to the brig for interrogation. Lethal force is only to be used as a last course of action. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Jessup motioned to his marines, and they took up flanking positions on the door. Jessups himself unholstered his weapon, cocked it, and took up position behind Pillion. Pillion drew his own side arm. A standard issue twelve round pistol, it seemed weedy compared to the heavier ordnance carried by the marines and Jessup. As he held it in his hand, Pillion marvelled at the irony of holding senior rank, yet being issued with the smallest firearm.

But what most caught his attention was that his hands were not visibly shaking.

Thrill of the hunt, he supposed.

Pillion waved at the marine nearest the door. He hit the lock controls, causing the door to slide upwards. Pillion steeled himself, raised his sidearm, and marched into the room.

He had expected something. For the room to be dark, for Gorcrow to hide in the shadows and leap out and attack them - he saw in his mind that horrible beak pecking and stabbing, smeared with human blood. Instead, the room was as he’d left it. And the Crow, in his debonair suit, and luminous chrome mask, sat in a meditative posture on the grand oak meeting table. He looked up, and cocked his head as if in surprise as Pillion and the marines entered.

“Captain,” came the metallic, throaty voice, “So good of you to pay me a visit,” he paused. “And to come so well armed.”

“Secure the room,” Pillion barked to his marines. “And seize this man at once,”

Again, that cock of the head. Polite surprise. “Now, now, Captain, there’s no need for this.”

“Impersonating an Officer of the Fleet is a punishable offence during a time of war,” replied Pillion coldly. Gorcrow was not armed, as far as he could see, but he kept his sidearm drawn nonetheless

“Ah…” Gorcrow sounded almost jovial. “You are referring to use of your dropships. You’ll forgive me. A small price to pay for what I intend to give you,”

“You’ll come with me, sir,” said one of the Marines nearest Gorcrow.

“No. I will not. Perhaps the Captain will permit me to explain,”

“You can explain in the brig. Lieutenant, give me an update on our ships,”

Modaboah brought out her holopad. She kept her sidearm in her other hand, trained vaguely in the direction of the cross legged Crow. “Comms have been trying to hail the ships, unsuccessfully. Their still trying.”

One of the Marine’s made an attempt at taking Gorcrow’s arm. The Crow slapped his hand away with surprising force, causing the armoured soldier to stagger back as if struck. “Captain, this is a waste of time. I did not impersonate you. I merely requested that some of your men assist me with a personal matter,”

“And how’d you convince our boys to help you out, eh?” sneered Jessup.

Gorcrow twitched his head again, angling his mask so that he appeared to be returning the sneer down the length of the metallic beak. “You have a delightful crew, Captain. They can be very obliging when asked.”

A nightmarish images mapped itself out in Pillion’s brain; it was Gorcrow, slipping silently through the corridors of Cerberus, whispering to his men as they ate, slept and trained, his metallic croak a soft seductive sound. “I’ve heard enough. Take him-”

There a commotion from outside the room, where two of the marines had taken up guard posts. “-Must speak with him at once!” someone barked, and then Dr Crucius burst into the room, flanked by one of the marines.

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s very insistent he speaks with with you -” began the marine apologetically, but Crucius cut him off with a sharp wave of his delicate hand.

“With good reason. Captain, we must speak at once. Upon my return to this vessel, I noted a huge increase in Chaos readings from my instruments. We are not in the proximity of any weather anomalies at present, so I can only conclude that there are dangerous levels of Chaos energy emanating from within this vessel, and suggest you conduct a full search of…”

His voice trailed off into nothing as he took in the scene before him, and his eye fell on Gorcrow’s silent, squatting figure. Crucius’ mouth was a rounded O of surprise, and his eyes seemed to be straining in their sockets.

Gorcrow held out a single gloved hand cordially. “Dr Crucius, of St Jude’s, Cambridge, I believe? A pleasure to meet you. I am a great admirer of your work.”

There was a moment of silence, and then Crucius bolted as if all the horrors of hell were snapping at his heels.

Gorcrow withdrew the hand, slowly. “How terribly rude. A man under considerable stress, perhaps. Now, captain, perhaps we might resolve this unfortunate matter -?”

“I - errr -” Dr Crucius’s sudden apparition and departure had thrown Pillion. “Jessup, I believe I ordered that this man be taken to the brig?”

He turned away as Jessup holstered his weapon and advanced on Gorcrow. “Lieutenant, where are my ships?”

“Comms received a message from them,” replied the XO, “They are preparing to shock back to the ship, sir. With prisoners, and a captured SkySkimmer.”

Pillion raised an eyebrow. “Prisoners?”

“No further information on that point, sir. The dropships will be back in our hangar in approximately five minutes.”

“Mmm. I see. Have a squad of marines meet the ships. I want their crews debriefed - thoroughly. As for the prisoners, have them transferred to the brig until we figure out what to do with them. Have the Skimmer put in the impound.”

From across the room, there was commotion. Two marines and Jessup were trying to restrain Gorcrow, and struggling. The Crow was much stronger than he looked, and kept throwing off grabbing hands. “We had a deal, Captain,” he snarled.

“Yes. We did.” replied Crucius neutrally. “Lieutenant, once this matter has been resolved, detail the Intelligence division to send two or three of their best down to the brig. I want to find out what this Crow knows. Advanced interrogation techniques authorised -”

“Captain!” Jessup had Gorcrow’s arms pinned, but was straining to hold him still.

Pillion ignored the Crow. “And I suppose we should have someone go after Crucius. Whatever may have gotten into the good doctor, we need him sane for our mission. Send a trusted man down to his lab, and let Medical know in case the man has completely lost his head -”

Gorcrow sighed. It was like the sound of air, rapidly escaping a furnace. “44.692261°, 62.657188°!”

Pillion hesitated. “What was that?”

Gorcrow jerked his head back, knocking Jessup clean off him as if he were nothing but a child. “It’s the location. 44.692261°, 62.657188°. You’ll find the 57th Fleet there.” He plucked from within his jacket pocket a holo-emitter and dropped it on the table next to him. “On this device, you’ll find detailed schematics for each vessel, reports on combat efficiency, and a log of the fleet’s movements over the past month.”

Pillion caught Modaboah’s eye briefly. He saw deep unease there. But his own gaze was fixated on the holo-emitter. “Jessup?”

“Yes, sir?” the sergeant-at-arms picked himself up and eyed Gorcrow warily.

“Kindly draw your weapon and aim it at our guest’s head, if you please.”

Jessup smirked, mirthlessly. He drew and cocked the submachine gun. “My pleasure, Captain.”

Modaobah’s unease was growing. “Sir, what -?”

“Lieutenant,” Pillion cut her off briskly, not taking his eyes off the holo-emitter, “Kindly tell the Bridge to begin a long range scan, centreing around longitude 44.692261°, latitude 62.657188°. Tell them to make adjustments for cloaking technology. Now,” He continued, as his XO relayed his orders, “Jessup? Should the results of that scan come back negative, you may fire at will.”

“You would shoot an unarmed man on your own ship, Captain?” said Grocrow, with deadly softness.

“I’d hardly say you meet the definition of man. This is my ship and I’ll do what I goddamn please. Lieutenant, report, please.”

Modaboah had a finger pressed into her earpiece, and was listening intently. “Long range scans....show eight vessels at that location. Preliminary results suggest Panther class battleships.”

“Good,” a thin smile spread across Pillion’s face. He motioned to one of the marines. “Marine? Have that holo-emitter taken down to Logistics. I want all data pulled from it and uploaded onto the combat mainframe. You may stand down, Jessup.”

“And now your have your information, Captain,” Gorcrow said, “Perhaps we can -?”

“I don’t recall saying you could speak. Jessup, clap him in irons.”

The sergeant-at-arms, who had been visibly disappointed at the command to stand down, grinned. Before Gorcrow could move, he clamped heavy binders over the Crows wrists. “Take him to the Bridge,” commanded Pillion.

Jessup frowned. “The bridge, sir?”

“Yes, sergeant. I think it is only fitting our guest see the fruits of his information.”

Gorcrow squirmed in his restrains at Jessup took one arm, and one of the marines took the other. “I trust, Captain, you do not still intend to have me shot, or thrown out an airlock?”

“Only if we lose. Take him away.”

As Jessup and the marine dragged Gorcrow from the room, Pillion caught Modaboah’s eye again.

“Captain, with all due respect, is this wise -?”

“Yes. I think you’ll find it is. I want you to signal the Huntsman and the Ajax and brief them on our target. How many allied vessels are within Shock distance?”

Modaboah opened her mouth, perhaps to protest, but instead closed it, and consulted her holo-pad. “The Portsmouth, and Adjudicator are currently on patrol duty in the Urals. HMS Albatross docked in Tel Aviv this morning to resupply. She should be done by now.”

“Excellent. Signal all three, using authorisation code Drake - Nelson; have them rendezvous with our current position as soon as possible.” he paused, and stroked his whiskers, thoughtfully. “Tell me, Lieutenant, do we still have that that freighter in the impound, the one captured from those pirates off the Horn of Africa?”

“I believe so, sir. Why?”

A small grin played across Pillion’s lips. God, he’d missed this. “Assign an engineering team to her. I want her shock ready within the hour. And tell Ordnance that I want them to gather whatever explosives they need to overload a shockstream drive installed on that ship.”

“Aye, sir. Consider it done.”

“Something you wish to say to me, Lieutenant?”

“Many things, sir,”

“I’m sure. And I shall hear them when we have claimed victory. Alert all section chiefs. We’re going to war,” he let that word, that delicious word linger for a moment. “Dismissed.”

Modaboah saluted him stiffly. For a moment, she seemed to deliberate, but then departed, leaving Pillion alone.

Captain Pillion clasped his hands behind his back, and strolled over to the viewport. Cerberus was flying in the cloud ceiling at present, and all he could see outside was endless, soft whiteness. He felt invigorated, younger than he had in a very long time. Some sixth sense of his told him that around him, his great vessel was swinging into actions, officers were barking orders, crew members reporting to their stations, and that deep within the ship’s bowels, ordnance officers were loading long chains of rail gun rounds into conveyor belts, to be fed up to Cerberus’s heavy guns. The ship was coming alive around him, and the thought of it was like breathing fresh, clean air for the first time.

He glanced down at his hand. After many, many months, they were completely still.