There were technicians swarming all of the Dragons as they crossed the Red Line.  All of the beasts took the treatment differently, sentient as they were.  Repairs and modifications hurt, always.  It was almost akin to getting surgery as a living animal.  Some snapped at the techs, and had to be soothed by their pilot, and some winced and twitched, but let it happen.  Brave Hart, its antlers almost brushing the hanger's ceiling, stood almost perfectly and stoically still.  Only its pilot knew the pain the tuning caused it.  

Waiting nervously in the open mouth of his Dragon, Thomas was looking across the crowded hanger at Del Lago.  That was Adrian's Dragon, he knew from dossiers.  He hadn't seen his brother on the ship yet, or in years, but they were here.  On the same vessel, and the same mission.  He wasn't sure if Adrian knew he was here or not.  He certainly hadn't made any attempt to contact him, and hadn't received any messages either.  

A short alarm blared, followed by an announcement.  

Reckoning time.  How would Adrian take being followed out into the depths of space by his older brother?  For that matter, how would his older brother take finally tracking him down after all this time?  And not even to bring him home, like he originally intended.  No, they were stuck in this war now, wherever that led them.  

Thomas stayed where he was for a little longer.  He was already in uniform, so there was no scrambling.  By and by, he jumped down from Brave Hart's mouth onto a catwalk running along the hangar, and made his way there.  

There were a lot of pilots already there.  Mostly human, with some exceptions, but all uncanny looking.  It was small things, glowing eyes, strange markings, or even more obvious modifications.  

Thomas allowed himself, exactly-on-time as he was, to be crowded into the center of the congregation, and waited.