Raven's Will

33. Friends in High Places

Gray swooped down like a great owl, pale wings flaring and boots swinging down as he came in for a heavy landing. His boots kicked up a great cloud of dust upon the initial touchdown, which was fed by the several running steps he took to burn off the forward momentum. By the time he came to full stop, his wings had retreated and the last few puffs of dust were settling behind him.

He moved with grim purpose towards the small camp that sat nearby. It wasn't hard to find, once he'd been given the coordinates. Although jammers and cloaking tech hid it from all technological reach, it was visually easy to spot once he was in the right area.

Why they found it necessary to plunk it so far behind their own lines and far away from any of the other Troit stations, Gray had no idea. He might have grumbled over it if he hadn't been so unsettled. Tension locked his shoulders, stiffened the lines of his back and clenched his jaw tight to the point of being uncomfortable.

When the Council had sent a messenger to tell him to drop everything he was doing, tell no one, and arrive at secret coordinates in the middle of nowhere, it was pretty hard to not make a few assumptions. Or conclusions.

Something big was about to go down. And they wanted him to be a part of it.

He walked towards camp undisturbed. Other than the tent, which was surrounded by equipment and transport vehicles, he was the only one out there. It felt kind of eerie, though Gray paid little care to that fact. His feet crunched against the dry ground, loud enough to announce his presence to anyone inside the tent.

Yet no one called out. No one even pushed aside the flap that made up the entrance. Gray was completely ignored, and for a second, he wondered if he was alone out here. Maybe Command was just playing a stupid joke. He scowled darkly, then reached out and shoved the flap aside.

He stepped inside and then immediately stopped. The flap fell into place behind him, close enough that it bumped against the faintly protruding boosters on the back of his armor. It took some effort, but he managed to keep his expression carefully neutral as he recognized the people before him.

They gathered around a table, most with their backs to him, but the few facing the tent's entrance glanced up at his arrival.

There was Raith, of course. The deceptively mild Scout who seemed to know far more than he should. To Gray's surprise, the Scout looked like he'd been in one heck of a fight. One of Raith's arms rested in a sling, the ends of a cast peeking past the material. Despite the obvious injury, the Scout still wore his flyer suit, although a few pieces of his armor had been removed to accommodate the injury.

Eyebrows lifting slightly, Gray looked past Raith to the two Scouts who stood behind him. Their faces were unfamiliar. Even as he eyed them curiously, they stared right back at him with careful regard. Gray looked away, not particularly interested in unknowns. It was the others in the tent that caught his attention.

Syk, he thought, with no small amount of dislike. The tall medic stood by Raith, wearing a small knowing smile. At least he looked like he'd been in some kind of fight as well, judging by the ugly bruising spreading across a puffy nose. Well well, he looks much improved with a busted face.

"Nice of you to join us, Gray," Syk said pleasantly. His pale eyes gleamed. Gray got the sense that Syk was insulting him somehow, but he couldn't figure out where the insult was. His scowl deepened.

He walked to the table, bumping shoulders with the flyer on his left as he stepped up between two of them. Idly, he noted that the flyer on his left was a Smoke flyer, and the one on the right was a Mountain. He didn't much care who they were, because the flat tablet sitting on the table drew his gaze like a fly to a carcass.