“I
don’t think it’s coming tonight, Captain.”

Captain
Rhys Griffiths abandoned his search of the Cerian sky to look back at his first
officer, who was standing a few feet behind him. Unlike his captain, Lieutenant
Giles Cooper was not at all interested in the rapidly darkening sky. He kept
glancing back to the Normandy spaceport control tower, less than a mile
distant.

“Let’s
face it, Captain. We’d have seen something by now if it was coming before
nightfall,” he said.

“No.
Captain Lee isn’t one for being late. He’ll be here tonight,” Rhys said. It was
the first time he had spoken in over an hour, ever since he had first come out
looking for some sign of the Terrestrial
Dawn. The Dawn was one of the
finest ships in the Terran Interplanetary Empire, and captained by Rhys’ old
friend and training partner, Aaron Lee. There was little that could delay a
military ship this close to Terra, but the fact still remained that the Dawn was scheduled to come into orbit
around Ceres over three hours ago.

Rhys
could think of no explanation for such a delay. The flight had been a routine
one from Mars. Normandy Control hadn’t received any word about a delay in
Romulus, but then, Normandy Control didn’t receive a lot of messages intended
for it.

Ceres
had been the second place humans settled on beyond Terra; Luna being the first.
It had been the prize jewel of the then fledgling Interplanetary Empire, but
that had been over two centuries ago. Mars, and then later, Europa, were
settled, and Ceres found itself cast aside. Funding was slashed and slowly it
started to decay. Normandy spaceport, once the rival of the greatest ports on
Terra, was decrepit and dysfunctional. To call the communications array flawed
was very generous.

Rhys’
comlink crackled to some semblance of life. A voice spoke, but it was so
distorted by static and white noise that Rhys couldn’t discern a single word of
it. Whoever was trying to contact him tried twice more, but to the same effect.
Then the comlink beeped once, signalling that it was out of service range.

Resisting
the urge to fling his comlink as far as he could, Rhys turned to his first
officer. “Contact Control would you? That was probably them. We’re too far away
from the docking bay to be from the Harvester,”
he said. The docking bay was only three hundred feet from the control tower,
but in Normandy, every inch mattered when it came to the wireless network.

No
sooner had Cooper taken his comlink from its holster did it squeal loudly.
“Lieutenant Cooper, come in Lieutenant,” a voice, still distorted by static,
but now understandable, boomed out from the struggling speaker. Cooper almost
dropped the thing in shock. If he had that to his ear it would have deafened
him.

There
was another loud squeal which slowly fell in volume. “Lieutenant Cooper?” the
voice repeated, at a more tolerable level.

“Cooper
here.”

Rhys
couldn’t hear the reply, so he looked back up at the sky again. The last of
Sol’s light was shining off the small satellite that orbited Ceres, barely
visible in the pink-tinged sky. It would have been a beautiful sight, but Rhys
wasn’t interested in that now. He was looking for the pinpricks of light from
the Terrestrial Dawn’s engines, but
it was getting harder to do now that the stars were starting to emerge from the
ever darkening sky. To make matters worse, a thick bank of cloud was rolling in
from the east. Soon nothing would be visible at all.

“Captain
Griffiths, I think you may want to go to Control,” Cooper said as he returned
his comlink to its holster.

“What’s
happened?”

“They
didn’t say, but I don’t think it’s good news.”

Pausing
only to emphatically say, “Shit,” Rhys started running for the spaceport.
Caught unaware by his captain’s sudden movement, Cooper trailed some distance
behind.

One
of the relics of the time the Normandy spaceport was built were the airlocks
that surrounded every entrance to the spaceport. Now that Ceres had a strong
atmosphere they were completely redundant, but had been kept largely as an attempt
to preserve the history of the spaceport. Rhys just thought the massive
silver-coloured semi-circular metal sheets were just ugly, and looked like a
twentieth century science fiction novel. He preferred the simplistic designs of
the spaceports he was familiar with on Terra.

In
a stubborn refusal to cooperate with their haste, the outer door hissed open
very slowly and closed at an even more gradual pace. To Rhys’ absolute
frustration, only when the first door had clicked shut behind them did the
control panel for the second, inner door activate. Rhys furiously punched in
his access code, cursing once more at the outdated system. Finally, the door
started to screech open.

There
was only one other exit to the small room the airlock opened into; the elevator
that led down to the spaceport itself. As it slowly clanked its way down Rhys
paced impatiently, itching to find out what information Control had picked up
about the whereabouts of the Terrestrial
Dawn and Captain Lee.

Most
of the buildings in the Normandy spaceport were located underground. All that
could be seen of them from the surface was the occasional vent belching out
steam and smoke. Like the airlocks, this was also the remnant of times gone by.
When Ceres didn’t have an atmosphere, the architects of the time had decided
that it would be safer to build below the surface. Plus it had a slight
strategic advantage should the dwarf planet be attacked. Hypothetically, at
least. Ceres had never once been attacked since it had been colonised. The
targets of Terra and Mars had always been far more attractive to the Centaurian
Governance of Planets, and little thought had ever been given to Ceres, about
halfway between the two. Only the control tower and a couple of the newer
buildings were above ground.

There
was no elevator up to the control tower, just a couple of flights of stairs,
which Rhys took two at a time. He had lost Cooper in the general bustle of
things in the network of corridors that snaked their way through the spaceport.

Taking
just a couple of seconds to compose himself outside, Rhys put his access code
into the control panel to the right of the door and entered the control room.
Order had long left the room and panic had erupted. Around the edge of the
room, beneath the windows that dominated three of the four walls, was a large
array of computers, monitors, and sensors. While many of them didn’t seem to be
working, those that were had become a hive of activity as about a dozen
white-shirted operators scurried back and forth, trying to make some sense of
the information their dated computers were giving them.

Only
in the very centre of the room, around the briefing table, was there some
degree of calm. Rhys knew three of the men there, but the fourth he was
unfamiliar with, though his red and gold robe and wide-brimmed hat marked him
as a Cardinal of the Vatican of Mars. The Cardinal was a sour-faced man who
looked to Rhys with an expression of intense dislike. The expression was not
reserved for just Rhys though; everywhere he looked the Cardinal wore it like
it was permanently affixed to his face.

The
other three men were all part of TIE’s spaceways; the branch of the Terran
military responsible for protecting the Empire from intersolar attacks. That
meant just one thing: protect TIE from the CGP, the Centaurian Governance of
Planets.

Nigel
Garter was the most senior officer present. He wore a long grey trenchcoat over
his white shirt, and he proudly displayed five red stripes upon the epaulettes
on his shoulders, signifying the rank of admiral. He was a grizzled man of
indeterminate age, but over fifty years of experience in the field. Though he
wore glasses, he never gave the impression of really needing them, and wore
them simply for effect. His white hair was wild, as though it had never once
been introduced to anything as simple as a brush. He captained the Europa, the finest ship ever built on
Terra.

The
other two men both carried the four gold stripes of a captain on their
shoulders. Jacques LeFavre was the resident captain of Normandy, while John
Baron was captain of the Odyssey.
Rhys had never met either of them before being stationed on Ceres a few months
previously, though he had heard of Captain LeFavre before. For years, he had
been championing Ceres’ cause without much success. It was through no fault of
Captain LeFavre that the spaceport was in such a sorry condition. Without him
it would have been completely unusable.

“Excellent.
Thank you for joining us so quickly, Captain,” Admiral Garter was saying.

“So
what’s the situation, Admiral?” Rhys asked, taking his place amongst the other
men.

“In
short, the Terrestrial Dawn is in the
hands of the CGP. Now, we haven’t picked anything up on our short-range
scanners, so we have at least three hours before we can expect any form of
attack,” Admiral Garter said gravely.

“And
the long-range scanners?”

“Inactive,”
Admiral Garter said with a shake of his head.

“We
have mechanics working on it, but I doubt it’ll be fixed that quickly,” LeFavre
interjected.

“And
visual’s almost out because of the weather,” Admiral Garter concluded. It all
added up to a very grim picture. Normandy was completely defenceless.

Rhys
gripped the side of the table and looked down at the papers strewn across it.
Most were blueprints of various systems the spaceport ran. The dates on some of
them staggered Rhys. One of them was over a century old.

“So
the ship was captured?” Rhys asked. The thought played at his mind. Aaron Lee
would never voluntarily turn his back on the Empire.

Admiral
Garter shook his head. “Defected.”

Rhys’
head swam as he considered this. There had to be some sort of explanation for
this. Perhaps someone in the crew had replaced Captain Lee and taken command of
the ship themselves. Unlikely, Rhys admitted, but he couldn’t realistically
think of anything else. He knew Aaron. Rhys knew exactly what he would do, and
this wasn’t part of that list.

He
swallowed to try and wet his dry throat. “And was Captain Lee responsible for
any of this?”

“He
sent the transmission himself,” Admiral Garter said.

Clenching
his fists and still looking down at the blueprints on the table, Rhys
whispered, “I would like to see the transmission myself, Admiral.”

After
about a minute, the holographic projector had hummed to life. For a moment just
the words Terran Interplanetary Empire were displayed, but then they faded to a
still frame of a middle-aged man with long black hair. His face was very
familiar to Rhys. This was Aaron Lee, captain of the Terrestrial Dawn, and until recently, one of TIE’s finest men.

The
still frame began to move, and sound followed a few seconds later, emerging
from the large speakers either side of where the image was projected a few feet
in front of the back wall.

“Good
evening Admiral Garter and Captains LeFavre, Baron, and... and Captain
Griffiths. As I’m sure you’re already aware, the Terrestrial Dawn will not be docking in Normandy tonight. Instead
I’m heading to Alpha Centauri to join up with the CGP. I will however stop by
your little port to pick up anyone who may wish to join me. This message has
been broadcast on all frequencies, so you can’t hide this offer from the
citizenry.” Though it was impossible for Aaron to have known where Rhys was
going to stand when viewing the message, Rhys felt that Aaron was looking right
at him as he gave the invitation to betray the Emperor of Terra.

Aaron
was not yet finished. A steely glint Rhys recognised very well had entered his
eye. “Any attempts to attack my ship or those who wish to leave Ceres shall be
dealt with very harshly. End of transmission.”

The
screen went black as the projector turned off. Any lingering doubt in Rhys’
mind that Aaron had not switched allegiance had gone. There was no mistaking
it. Captain Aaron Lee was part of the CGP now, and as such had to be considered
an enemy.

“You
know Captain Lee. Will he be true to his word and not attack?” Admiral Garter
asked Rhys after allowing him a few moments of silence.

“I
knew him, Admiral. He’s not the same
person anymore. But yes, he was always a man true to his word.” A man true to
his word wouldn’t break every vow he had made and turn his back on the Emperor,
but Rhys’ meaning was still clear. Unless they provoked Captain Lee then they
should be safe from attack.

“Any
suggestions then, Captain? We can’t risk a mass exodus,” Admiral Garter said,
looking around the control room. Rhys could see a couple of slightly guilty
faces, as though they were half-considering boarding the Dawn when it arrived.

“Prepare
the shields and defences, but do not fire until fired upon. We can’t initiate
the attack, but nor can we be caught unaware if he is being treacherous,” was
Rhys’ reply. He didn’t want to attack a ship captained by one of his old
friends, but he also knew that they couldn’t risk being defenceless if Captain
Lee did go against his word.

“Captain
LeFavre, what defences are active and ready to be armed?” Admiral Garter said,
turning back to the Cerian captain.

“Little,”
LeFavre replied instantly in a weary tone. “The shields will not be ready for
two more weeks, and only half the turrets are active.” His voice was apologetic
and forlorn, but Rhys couldn’t help but get exasperated.

“Jesus
Christ in Heaven, why so little?” he said. The cardinal leaned forward and
coughed loudly, the first noise Rhys had heard him make, but before the
red-robed man could reply, LeFavre answered Rhys’ question.

“Much
of this place is old, and renovation has been very slow and costly. We’ve
always had the same old excuse: resources are difficult to get through the
asteroids; which is absolute bullshit,” he said with fervour. This was one
subject he knew much about.

“We’ll
have to activate what we can,” Admiral Garter said. “Arm every man with a
weapon, even if it’s solid ammunition. Anything will do. Arm the mustelids too.
We need all the help we can get.”

“I
don’t think that’s a good idea, Admiral,” LeFavre said with a considerable
amount of distaste in his words.

“Explain?”

LeFavre
hesitated, but after some thought answered, “We can’t risk a significant number
of them defecting, which I know many would do if they’re made aware of the CGP
presence. They’re too important to the running of this port, and I know many of
our ships too. Better to keep them unaware of the whole situation.” Rhys didn’t
think that was quite how the Cerian had phrased his response in his head.

“I
suppose you’re right. Very well. Keep it from them, but arm every man you can,”
Admiral Garter said, though Rhys could see a shadow of doubt pass across his
eyes.

“Consider
it done,” LeFavre said, saluting Admiral Garter before giving a polite nod to
the others around the table. He left the control room without once looking
back.

Admiral
Garter turned back to Rhys and Captain Baron. “I want you both to prepare your
ships for launch. We don’t have time to prepare them for combat, but we can at
least ready them for evacuations,” he said.

“Understood,”
Captain Baron and Rhys said simultaneously. As one they turned on their heels
and left the control room. To Rhys’ surprise, the cardinal followed them.

Cooper
was waiting for them just outside. Lacking the access code for the control room
he hadn’t been able to follow Rhys inside. He looked more than merely
disgruntled that he had been left outside, but he was smart enough not to
mention his discontent. They descended the stairs in silence, all uncomfortable
in the presence of the cardinal.

“Captain
Griffiths, a word if you may?” Rhys turned at the oily voice. It was the
cardinal who had spoken.

Rhys
didn’t answer the cardinal immediately. Instead he addressed his first officer.
“Mr Cooper, can you prepare the Harvester
for launch. Captain Baron, if you could fill Mr Cooper in on what’s going on
then that would be most appreciated,” he said. Only after seeing the two men
off did he turn back to the cardinal. “Make it quick,” he said.

“Cardinal
Erik of the Vatican,” the cardinal introduced himself as. With what seemed to
be an afterthought, he offered his hand. Rhys didn’t take it. He hadn’t ever
met a cardinal he’d particularly liked, and he doubted that was about to
change. Cardinal Erik still wore the expression that suggested he took great
offense to everything he saw.

“There
was something you wished to discuss with me?” Rhys prompted after the cardinal
had fallen into silence.

The
cardinal frowned and pursed his lips, still able to keep the appearance of
loathing. “I have been speaking to everyone of rank. Pope Adamantius is
concerned about the mustelid treatment here,” he said with a slight sucking in
of his breath.

Rhys
glanced back to find the reason for his reaction; one of the mustelids was
approaching. Mustelids were a breed of artificial creatures, created in a
laboratory over two hundred and fifty years ago. They were still the pinnacle
of genetic engineering. Pressure from the Vatican had led to all genetic
research laboratories closed down shortly after the creation of the mustelids.
They had been created from a mixture of human DNA and that of a stoat, or a
weasel, Rhys could never quite remember. The result had been a short, furry
humanoid of reasonable intelligence and capable of speech. They had been bred to
be subservient and fairly weak-willed. As a consequence they were perfect at
what they had been designed for; namely to serve humans in whatever way they
could.

“Adamantius
is concerned about their treatment?”
Rhys repeated. The Vatican had always opposed the mere existence of mustelids.
No one affiliated with the Vatican would ever champion for their rights.

Cardinal
Erik nodded once. On his face now was not distaste. It was outright loathing.
The mustelid that had been approaching gave a slight squeak of terror and fled
in the opposite direction.

“His
Holiness is very concerned. Word has reached his ear of mustelids gaining
promotions within the ranks of the Spaceways.” Cardinal Erik licked his lips
maliciously. “He believes there is a... sympathiser somewhere in this
spaceport. We cannot allow this sort of thing to happen.”

Rhys
folded his arms and stared down the cardinal. “And you think that I’m that
person?”

“I
know that someone here is. I just have to ask enough questions and they’ll
crack eventually,” Cardinal Erik said with a smile that filled Rhys with dread.
He didn’t let any of that fear show on his face though.

“I
bear no particular grudge against the mustelids. I find them useful and
generally work without complaint. I am not though, as you say, a sympathiser,”
Rhys said, choosing his words carefully. “I follow TIE and Spaceways guidelines
on their treatment. Nothing more or less than that.”

Cardinal
Erik twisted his face into a look of concentration; it appeared to be quite an
effort for him not to look disdainful. “Are there any mustelids on your ship?”

Rhys
paused. “Two, I think. Both in the services crew,” he said. It had been quite a
while since he had seen either of the mustelids in his employ. He’d had nothing
to do with them since he’d signed the paperwork that designated them to his
ship.

The
cardinal frowned. “Very well. I’ll let you get back to your duties, but know
that I will be watching you Captain Griffiths.” With an unnecessary flourish of
his robes, Cardinal Erik stalked off in the opposite direction to where Baron
and Cooper had gone.

Not
knowing whether to be scared or amused, Rhys settled with a wry shake of the
head before heading off to his ship. He had work to do.

The
docking bay looked like a large warehouse, and in more advanced parts of the
Empire it probably would have been used as such. However, this was Ceres, so
there were three ships secured within. There was room for a fourth, but the
rigging and walkways that would surround the ship were raised and idle.

As
the docking bay was underground, it would have been dark but for the strips of
flickering lights along the walls and retractable roof. Here and there was a
patch of darkness where a cluster of lights had failed.

Rhys
was able to catch up with his first officer before he boarded the Harvester, which had been docked in the
far corner of the hanger. There was no sign of Captain Baron; the only others
present were a couple of mustelids in blue overalls hanging off the edge of the
Europa, dangling in harnesses as they
ran minor repairs to the hull. The damage appeared to be from small asteroids
impacting as it passed through the Asteroid Belt.  As it was, the damage was nothing serious,
but if it was kept unchecked, then the hull could weaken and eventually break.

The
Harvester, like most Empire ships,
bore a greater resemblance to a large, grey brick than the earlier, fanciful
models. In the vacuum of space there was no need for elaborate aerodynamic
features on a ship, in fact they often compromised the structural integrity of
it. The very first spacecraft TIE had built had discovered that the hard way,
after three ships began to dismantle themselves midflight shortly before
arriving on Mars. Only two of the ships reached their destination intact. After
that there was a massive overhaul in the design of the spacecraft, resulting in
the visually displeasing, but fully functional ships they had today.

“Mr
Cooper, your thoughts?” Rhys asked as they boarded the small elevator that took
them up to the ship’s entry near the top.

“We’re
in deep shit, if you’ll pardon my language,” Cooper replied. “If we had
defences, I’d say we attack the Dawn
on sight, but as it is... I think Captain Lee must have known we can’t defend
the spaceport. That’s why he’s coming here. He wouldn’t do so otherwise.”

Rhys
nodded in agreement. Cooper had got it just right, if not in the most eloquent
of manners. There was no way Aaron would have come to Ceres if he’d known that
the defences here were fully active.

“If
the call comes to evacuate... now I don’t think it’ll come to that, but if it
does I want you to take on board as many as you can and launch, whether or not
I’m present,” Rhys said, knowing that he would be of far greater use in the
control tower than hiding away in his ship.

“Understood,
Captain,” Cooper said with a brief salute.

“Get
Mr Scott to have the coordinates ready for Romulus, just in case. And for
goodness sake make sure Mr Briggs has refuelled the ship. We don’t want another
fiasco like we had in Moscow,” Rhys said. The elevator had reached the top of
its shaft and Cooper got out. Rhys however stayed where he was, placing his arm
in the way of the door to stop it closing again.

“Romulus,
Captain?” Cooper said, also pausing when he saw his Captain wasn’t following.

“That
was where Captain Lee departed from. If I can I’d like to learn more about why
he abandoned TIE so quickly,” Rhys said. It had also been the last place he had
seen his old friend; Rhys had stopped over at Romulus before coming to Normandy
a few months ago. Then Aaron had been the same as he ever had been, and Rhys
certainly didn’t pick up on any signs of discontent. This seemed to be quite a
sudden shift in Aaron’s thinking and Rhys wanted to know what had caused it.
Good, loyal men like Aaron didn’t suddenly decide to pack up and leave for
Alpha Centauri without reason.

Cooper
saluted again and turned on his heel, disappearing into the Harvester, leaving Rhys alone to wonder
whether he would ever have the chance to command his ship again. It was a
sobering thought that there was the distinct chance he could be killed if Aaron
chose to open fire. His oldest and closest friend.

Any
further musings were interrupted by a call from his comlink. “Captain. Your
presence is requested in the control room. We’ve just received communication
from Romulus.”

“Be
there shortly,” Rhys said as the elevator slowly trundled down towards the
warehouse floor. Perhaps this communication would be able to explain why Aaron
had defected.

As
he walked across the warehouse floor there came a cry came from above, and
something clattered to the floor, only just missing his shoulder. The two
mustelids clinging to the side of the Europa
bickered amongst each other, one of them accusing, the other defending
himself. Rhys looked down to see what had been dropped to find a spanner lying
on the ground. It had chipped the floor around it.

“Be
more careful would you,” Rhys called out to the two mustelids. With unerring
accuracy, he lobbed the spanner up towards the two. The one who had dropped the
spanner in the first place was able to swing out from the hull and catch it in
his small hands.

Rhys
turned to leave, a call of gratitude following him out of the port. “Thank you,
Captain!” Rhys looked back up at the mustelids. The one with the spanner was
saluting him, and then promptly lost his grip on the tool, only just catching
it before it fell back to the ground. He giggled as he looked down at Rhys, a
child-like grin on his furry face.

“Get
back to work, Twitch,” the second mustelid said. Twitch obliged and turned away
from Rhys and got back to the repairs.

Shaking
his head, Rhys left the hanger and made his way back up to the control tower.
He was joined halfway by Captain Baron, who had hurried after him. “You get the
call too?” Baron said.

“Something
about Romulus getting in contact. About time, too,” Rhys said. He wondered how
many times Romulus had tried to contact Normandy, but had failed due to the
poor quality of the Cerian communication systems. Ceres was the only colonised
place in the Sol System that still used radio transmitters.

“Do
you think it’s something to do with the Dawn?”

“Has
to be. I can’t think why else they’d want to reach us.”

“They
want to talk to Cardinal Erik?” Baron said with a shrug. The way he twisted his
lips told Rhys that the cardinal had been questioning Captain Baron as well.
Rhys was glad he wasn’t the only person the cardinal was targeting, but he knew
the Martian was wasting his time on John Baron. The man refused to have
anything to do with the mustelids. There were none on his crew and he didn’t
permit any to even operate external repairs.

Admiral
Garter and Captain LeFavre were already in the control tower when Rhys and
Captain Baron returned.

“We’ll
keep it simple,” Admiral Garter said as soon as he saw the other two captains
enter the room. “Remus control made contact with us about five minutes ago on
behalf of Romulus, as they had run into extreme difficulties broadcasting on
the Cerian wavelengths. Their message was simple: the Terrestrial Dawn left Romulus eight hours early.”

“Eight
hours? Then why aren’t they here already?” Captain Baron said.

“That
is what we’ve been trying to work out,” Captain LeFavre said. The blueprints on
the briefing table had been replaced with charts of the Asteroid Belt and the
empty space between Ceres and Mars. Rhys raised an eyebrow at the thoroughly
archaic and outdated method of navigation.

Upon
seeing his reaction, Captain LeFavre said, “Our mapping programs have crashed
at a most inconvenient time. We’ve sent for a mechanic, but...” he trailed off
and spread his hands wide.

Admiral
Garter tapped a pen against the charts in exasperation. He had already made
quite a few marks on the printouts, plotting any possible route the Dawn could have taken. None seemed
likely.

“So
the Dawn leaves Romulus eight hours
early, but still gets here at least five hours late? How is that possible?”
Rhys asked no one in particular. Even as he spoke, a claxon wailed through the
control tower. Above them a red light flickered on and off.

“Ms
Jones, report!” Captain LeFavre called out over the din.

“We’ve
picked something up on the scanners. It’s the Dawn, Captain. It’s... Christ it’s already in orbit, sir,” a woman
called out from one of the few functioning computers.

“Impossible,”
Captain Baron said, though the evidence proved very much to the contrary.

Abruptly
the alarms cut out mid-wail, though the red light continued to flash. Rhys
sucked in his breath, though for once it wasn’t the failing systems that
annoyed him. He had realised exactly what Aaron had done; why they hadn’t
picked up the Dawn and why it had
taken him so long to make the short journey between Mars and Ceres. It was not
easy manoeuvring something the size of a spaceship; they were best suited to
travelling in a straight line, but that’s not what Aaron had just done. He had
gone around the back of Ceres and approached Normandy from a wholly unexpected
angle. No one could have anticipated any ship approaching from the direction of
Terra when it had launched from Mars.

Admiral
Garter was the first to compose himself. “Gentlemen, we seem to be out of
time,” he said. He removed his glasses and wiped them clean with his sleeve.
“We have to make do with what we have, and hope that Captain Lee is true to his
word. We have little chance of emerging victorious from any skirmish that may
occur.”

A
brief silence filled the room. It was soon broken by Captain LeFavre. “Should
we not send an emissary to the Dawn? Hopefully
we can negotiate a peaceful exchange,” he said. The Cerian had turned to Rhys
as he spoke. It was clear who he believed should be the man to try and reason
with Aaron.

“Captain
Griffiths, could you oblige. You are familiar with the man, he may listen to
you,” Admiral Garter said, clearly agreeing with LeFavre. Rhys could hardly
disobey a direct order from a superior officer, but he was none too happy with
the request. He did not feel he was the best person for the job. Someone who
did not know Aaron would probably be more suitable. For one, Rhys was the only
person in Normandy Aaron would definitely not want to open fire on. Secondly,
Rhys wasn’t sure if he could refrain from keeping the negotiations from
descending into an accusation against Aaron’s defection.

“Very
well,” Rhys said anyway, putting aside his doubts for now. It would not do well
to argue with the admiral. He would just have to try and ignore his personal
feelings of betrayal as best he could.

Admiral
Garter did not appear to notice the moral dilemma he had put Rhys into.
“Excellent. We can send a message through to the Dawn to expect you,” he said, placing his arm around Rhys’ shoulder
and pulling him away from the small group a little. “I hope you will trust your
own judgement in what you negotiate for. If we lose some men to the CGP, then
so be it. We cannot afford to goad Captain Lee into an attack.”

“I
understand, Admiral,” Rhys said, knowing full well what the consequences of a
mistimed or thoughtless word could be. The fate of the population of the Cerian
spaceport could be in his hands. One mistake, and the weapons of the Dawn could kill everyone in the port,
and Normandy would be powerless to resist.

“Then
get yourself to the teleporters. Once everything’s ready for you to board the Dawn, I’ll send word,” Admiral Garter
said, releasing Rhys from his hold.

Rhys
saluted the admiral and turned to leave. “Good luck, Captain,” the admiral said
as Rhys left. “You’ll need it.”