Chapter Twelve

Admiral Garter arrived that very evening. The Europa arced down from the orange-streaked sky and neatly landed in the Mount Cotton port. Rhys watched this all from the perimeter fence, knowing that he was going to be summoned, but not wishing to leave the company of the five mustelids. He would wait until someone came for him.

Sure enough, not even half an hour after the Europa had landed, Chekhov and Dewson had come looking for Rhys. While Chekhov came right up to the group of mustelids, Dewson hung some distance back. He still seemed unable to make eye contact with Rhys, as though still guilty about the time he had pulled a weapon on his commanding officer.

Chekhov didn’t speak for a few minutes, instead just sitting down in silence beside Twitch and David. “Captain Rivers is being questioned by Admiral Sanderson at the moment,” the pilot said after a while.

It had been some time since Rhys had encountered the Inner-Sol Admiral, despite spending most of the last four years stationed at various ports on Terra. Considerably younger than Admiral Garter, Admiral Sanderson had picked up a reputation for being quite ruthless towards dissenters and those who went against the ideals of the Empire. His presence did not exactly fill Rhys with optimism.

That two admirals were located at the same port was almost completely unprecedented. The mustelid uprising was obviously a critical concern in the eyes of the Spcaeways command. Rhys was under no illusions; it wasn’t sympathy that had them send Admirals Garter and Sanderson to Mount Cotton. They wanted it suppressed before it had chance to spread.

Rhys didn’t respond to Chekhov’s comment, instead turning back to the mustelids. The mood was glum, and no one had any desire to talk, and the two humans were willing to respect that, but Rhys knew they could only wait so long.

“You have to take me back, don’t you?” Rhys asked.

“We do,” Chekhov replied.

Rhys sighed. Against his chest, Steph stirred slightly as though in deep sleep. “I don’t want to go,” he whispered.

“I know.” Chekhov said, as he glanced back towards the port. The small cluster of buildings was silhouetted by the fierce orange light of the setting sun. “But you must, Captain. You must face Admiral Garter, or else you will never achieve what you want.”

“How do you know what I want?” Rhys snarled, surprising even himself with the venom in his voice. He quickly relented. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...”

“It’s alright, Captain. I understand. I didn’t know the mustelid Leandro, but I could tell he meant a lot to you,” Chekhov said, before addressing the other mustelids directly. “I may not have had much to do with your kind before, but I would very much like to be a part of your cause. I know most of the Harvester’s crew will be with us.”

“We would be glad to have you Mr Chekhov,” Twitch said when it became clear Rhys wasn’t going to answer. A shadow of Twitch’s usual maniacal smile had returned to his face, a grim determination in his eye.

It put Rhys to shame, and with a great effort he gently removed Steph’s weight from against his chest. She barely stirred as he lay her down on the grass. “Watch over her, will you?” he asked William and Richard, who were still sprawled in each others’ arms. Once they had given their answer to the affirmative, Rhys turned his attention to the humans; to Chekhov who was still sat near Twitch and David, and to Dewson who was nervously pacing some distance away.

Straightening up his uniform, Rhys knew he could delay his return to the spaceport no longer. Flanked by the humans Chekhov and Dewson on one side, and the mustelids Twitch and David on his other, Rhys braced himself for what Admiral Garter had to say.

Admiral Garter removed his glasses and placed them on his desk with care. He had yet to respond to Rhys’ explanation of the events in the Mount Cotton jail, even though Rhys had finished speaking some minutes prior.

The mustelid was sat nervously; his hands ceaselessly twisting his tail as he perched on the edge of his chair, waiting for the admiral’s response. He wished for the company of Twitch, but his first officer had been refused entry to Admiral Garter’s quarters. He had been sent back to the Harvester with Chekhov, Dewson, and David. All of Rhys’ crew had been ordered back to their ship. It was already obvious that they would not be remaining in Mount Cotton for much longer. It was simply the manner of their exit that remained unknown.

“You must understand that I’m running quite short on options,” Admiral Garter said eventually. He paused, waiting for Rhys to make a comment, but the mustelid continued silently fidgeting with his tail.

“I want to do the best for you, Captain Griffiths, but you don’t make it easy on me. I can’t even comprehend the challenges you face, but your answer does not lie in a few dozen mustelids and an attempted rebellion.

“I know that people will be pressing for your dismissal from Spaceways. I’m sure you’re aware that there have been murmurings of discontent from both TIE and the Papacy. They will see this as proof that you are no longer fit for duty,” Admiral Garter said, but still Rhys stared into the floor and remained quiet.

“As for Captain Rivers” – Rhys snarled at the sound of his name – “he will not be charged with any breach of discipline. Admiral Sanderson has already made this quite clear to me; the death of a mustelid does not contravene the bounds of the London Convention, and so he has no case to answer.”

“So Leandro’s death means nothing to you?” Rhys muttered darkly.

“To me? It may surprise you to know, Captain Griffiths, but I knew Leandro. Not very well, but well enough. He last served on my ship some ten years ago, and I still remember his wonderful stories. I grieve his loss the same as you do.”

“Then why do you do nothing for us?”

“I do what I can within the bounds of my influence, Captain Griffiths. You overstepped yours, and that scared Captain Rivers into violence. You must learn control, and with time, change will come. It did in Alpha Centauri, it will happen here too.”

Rhys’ ears perked at the mention of Alpha Centauri, though he suppressed the insidious thought that crept into the back of his mind. Despite everything, he was not yet prepared to give up on TIE, even though he was facing expulsion from Spaceways. The rebellion may have failed, but they had succeeded in swaying the minds of two captains. It was the first step towards equality for all mustelids in TIE, and Rhys was not about to give up on Leandro’s dream so easily.

Slowly he raised his head to look at Admiral Garter for the first time since stepping into his quarters. “What now then, Admiral?” he asked. He released his tail and gripped the sides of his chair, his claws tearing into the fabric covering slightly.

“You must understand that your continued presence in Sol has become quite untenable. I have to get you away, so I’m sending you to the Sirius System for as long as necessary. You’ll be stationed at the New Swansea port on Cymru until further notice,” Admiral Garter said, picking his glasses back up from his desk to clean them.

Rhys hugged his legs and allowed himself a faint smile. He had only fond memories of the Sirius System, and especially of Cymru, the small planet named after his homeland on Terra. It would make a welcome change from his time on Ceres and Terra.

“You’ll leave immediately. But please, Captain. For the last time. Try not to do anything rash,” Admiral Garter said in conclusion to their short meeting.

Rhys was escorted back to his ship after that, and he headed directly for his quarters. He didn’t stop for anyone, not even Twitch, who had called out to him from the bridge.

Locking the door behind him, Rhys went to collapse on his bed, but stopped. There was a sealed envelope perched on his pillow, addressed simply with his name. Without any input from his mind, Rhys’ hand darted out to grab the letter. For a moment he stared at it, wondering who it was from and why they couldn’t have told him face-to-face. Then he realised that just opening it would be the quickest way to answer those questions. He turned the envelope over to slice open the back, and then froze.

There were two words on the back of the envelope.

The writer of the letter had signed it with their name.

Aaron Lee.