Chapter Five

Rhys couldn’t stop pacing around the front room of the Avon house as he waited for Scott to return. The other mustelids had been stunned at the news of Rhys’ sudden demotion, but thrilled about the prospect of leaving for Alpha Centauri. They didn’t share Rhys’ fear of getting caught, all that mattered to them was arriving at the mustelid haven of the CGP.

Doctor Sparks had also been present at the time, and he had looked immensely relieved at the news. It was a reaction Rhys couldn’t explain, but nor did he had the capacity to think about it too much as his mind was plagued with worry for Scott’s safety. It had been three hours now since Rhys had last seen his navigator, and he was starting to fear the worst. They had been discovered, surely, and someone was on their way to arrest him, and likely his whole crew.

He squeaked in terror as someone knocked on the front door, but he was relieved to learn it was Scott. The navigator was alone.

“Where is everyone?” Rhys asked. He sank down on the living room sofa. He had been sure that some of the crew at least would have wanted to join him, that none had done so had disappointed and hurt him.

“We’re waiting for darkness. They’ll join us just before the dwarf sets,” Scott said, allaying Rhys’ fears, and indicating then just how good a captain he could be.

Rhys tried to ignore that. “So who will be coming?”

“Everyone I managed to speak to. All of the operations crew will be coming, though a couple took a little convincing. Ms van den Burgh and Ms Simms were initially a little reluctant, but I expect them both to be present this evening,” Scott said, referring to the ship’s weapons officer and her cadet officer. “As for the service crew, I believe a good half of them will be joining us, though I fear we could be a little short in systems repairs.”

“I can do the work of four in repairs, should we need it, as can David,” Twitch piped up with a grin. He was lying on the floor in front of the fireplace, not really seeming to be paying much attention to the conversation, and certainly not giving much heed to the seriousness of the situation.

“Twitch here was the finest mechanic on Ceres,” David agreed. “If anything goes wrong with the ship, we won’t need a repairs crew.”

Scott took a seat in front of Rhys. “Your crew is loyal to you, Captain. We’re all ready to take a step into the unknown, so that you can earn the respect you deserve,” the navigator said, and Rhys felt tears forming in his eyes. He still didn’t truly want to leave TIE, but he felt he no longer had any choice. He accepted that were he to stay, he would never again be allowed to step foot on a Spaceways ship bridge, he would never feel the thrill of being captain of a loyal and devoted crew. They were risking everything for him, and his heart was bursting with pride and gratitude.

“Thank you,” Rhys whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Steph, who was sat next to him on the sofa, sidled closer and placed her head on his shoulder.

“I guess now we just wait,” Twitch said grumpily as he absently toyed with the loose strands of the carpet. The wait for darkness had begun, and it stayed largely in silence, but for the sounds of Twitch’s claws tearing up the carpet. Any attempt at conversation was greeted by monosyllable answers and died almost immediately. Rhys had Steph in his arms the entire time, and it was only her presence at his side that kept him from resuming his ceaseless pacing.

Finally, the Sirius stars touched the horizon, and right on schedule the rest of Rhys’ defecting crew arrived in preparation for an immediate departure again. Combining both the service and operations crew, it was a large group, and it was hard to keep so many inconspicuous, so they didn’t even try. Given that Scott had never actually declined his promotion to Admiral Garter, the navigator came up with the idea of the crew celebrating the appointment of their new captain with a night out, should anyone confront them. Rhys and the other mustelids kept themselves safe from prying eyes by remaining in the very centre of the group.

Rhys held Steph’s hand the entire time. He was shaking like a leaf, and he was terrified every time a stranger approached, though they invariably kept walking by. Every sudden noise was enough to make him jump. He had never been this scared before; not even in the first few weeks after his transformation had he been so petrified.

He was relieved when they reached the ruins of the spaceport. The rebuilding work had stopped for the night and so the place was eerily deserted and quiet. The docking bay stood tall in the growing gloom. Inside was their ship and escape.

The docking bay entrance was easy to bypass, despite it being locked. Even though Rhys had been stripped of captaincy, his passcode still unlocked the door when he plugged it into the keypad. Clearly no one had thought to change his permissions yet, but it was all to their advantage. Getting into the pitch black docking bay completed the easy part of their escape.

“Someone find the lights,” Rhys said as he locked the doors behind them. He wondered if their presence had already been detected by central command at the Institute. There was no way of knowing if the alarms and cameras had been connected to the computers there. The fact that no one had spoken to them through the tannoys gave him a little confidence that they hadn’t.

The lights flickered on, revealing the two ships docked there. The Europa had eschewed the temporary docking bay at the Institute and had parked right next to the Harvester in a blatant disregard of the room to hold at least four other ships in the bay.

Rhys waited for his crew to board, waiting outside the ship until the last of the service crew had climbed to the top of the scaffolding that clambered up the side of the ship, up to the small entry point near the very top. It was a dizzying distance, but the entire lower half of the ships were dedicated to engines and fuel storage.

The Harvester was frantic with activity even as Rhys boarded. The service crew was busy running compulsory checks on the ship under the watchful eye of Gunnar Larson, the man who had replaced Simon Briggs as the service commander as a transfer from the Normandy port on Ceres. Given all his troubles on Terra, and now on Cymru, Rhys still hadn’t been formally introduced to the man.

Likewise, the operations crew were running their own checks as they got the Harvester online and ready for launch. Everyone knew they didn’t have long before they were noticed. It had to be done quickly, but there was also no margin for error.

Twitch was darting around the bridge with a confidence that was significantly lacking on the trip from Terra to Cymru; it appeared the training with Scott was paying off already, as the mustelid checked and confirmed the calibrations the operations crew were making, changing any mistakes and pointing out oversights.

Rhys smiled as he oversaw Aleksandr Chekhov going over the launch procedures with his cadet officer, the American, Donald Mathers. They were in constant collaboration with Edgar Scott as Cameron Riley, the junior navigator, furiously plotted the course for Alpha Centauri. A number of error messages popped up on Riley’s computer as he tried to find the correct coordinates.

The calls soon came from around the room that everything was ready to go. Navigation was online, as were the engines. Kim van den Berg and her cadet officer, Deborah Simms, confirmed the weapons and defences were ready if needed. Jermain McDonald and Marianne Watkins had the communications array online and tuned in to all receiving frequencies. The sensory array followed just after, with both systems officers, Jordan Dewson and Sarah Pool present as usual, along with the Branson Ltd veteran, James Sutherland.

The ship was almost ready to launch, the final checks were being made, when two significant issues were brought to Rhys’ attention almost simultaneously.

The first came from Chekhov. “Captain, the ship hasn’t been refuelled. I don’t think we have enough for a launch.”

The second was from Twitch, who had been looking out the window. “Rhys, the roof’s still closed.”

“Shit and dammit.” Rhys said. “There has to be a manual override for the roof somewhere. Mr Chekhov and Mr Mathers, you come out with me and see if you can find some fuel somewhere that didn’t contribute to the fires.

“Twitch, get those windows shuttered off immediately, and make sure everyone else is ready for an immediate departure, including Mr Larson. We could be in for a sudden exit from the atmosphere if we find no fuel out here.”

Rhys ran out of the bridge with the two pilots in close company. “Mr Chekhov, you take Mr Mathers and check the maintenance level. There may be some fuel there. I’ll worry about getting this roof open,” he said, pointing down to the floor some fifty feet below them, at the very bottom of the scaffold.

“I’m on to it, Captain,” Chekhov said. He was already dashing down the stairs four at a time. Mathers followed with a little more caution.

Rhys stayed up on the scaffolding, which created a network of raised pathways throughout the docking bay. He knew the controls for the roof had to be here somewhere; there was always an emergency control panel in the docking bay, though they were usually operated from the control tower. It only took him a couple of minutes before he found it, fifty feet directly above the entrance to the docking bay.

“Chekhov, have you found anything?” he shouted down to the pilot. He didn’t want to open the roof until the last possible moment, as that would certainly reveal their presence to central command.

“These fuel tanks are all empty,” was the distant reply.

“I can’t find anything either,” Mathers added.

“Dammit! Just leave it, we’ll have to make do without,” Rhys said, hitting the railings in annoyance. “Get back up here, there’s nothing more to be done.”

Rhys lingered by the control panel as Chekhov and Mathers raced back up the scaffolding, but he called the cadet officer over before the returned to the ship.

“Mr Mathers, you’re quicker than me, and I want this ship off the ground the instant that roof is open, so you’ll need to punch in the code. The number is four, two, one, nine, eight, nine, four, and two. Hit the green button, and then run. Start the moment I’m on the ship. You’ve got all that?” Rhys said, patting the cadet officer on the elbow.

“Four, two, one, nine, eight, nine, four, two. You can rely on me, Captain,” Mathers said.

“Knew I could. Run quickly now, I don’t want to wait for you,” Rhys said, before sprinting back to his ship.

Rhys waved at Mathers once he reached the ship’s airlock, and he could see the cadet officer initiating the roof’s opening sequence. The Institute of Science was about to know they were there, but it was nearly too late for them to do anything about it.

Moments later the roof began to creak as the gears began to grind and turn. Slowly the roof started to open. Mathers sprinted back to the ship, and Rhys closed the airlock behind them and detached the scaffolding from the ship remotely. “Let’s get this ship off the ground,” he shouted at Mathers over the noise.

Rhys returned to the bridge as a loud siren began wailing inside the docking bay. The roof was now fully open, and they were ready to leave. “Chekhov, start the engines, let’s get us out of here,” Rhys said, taking his seat. He was shaking. The moment was finally here. The engines began roaring, and slowly the ship started to rise out of the docking bay.

“Is it bad, that we haven’t refuelled the engines?” Twitch asked quietly, standing by Rhys’ side.

“It means launch could get a little bit bumpy,” he replied, knowing he was understating matters a lot. If the solid fuels ran out then they would be forced to use the ionic engines, and they were less predictable in the atmosphere than in open space: much harder to control.

Then McDonald raised his hand. Someone was speaking with him. Their presence was finally known. McDonald unplugged his headphones so that everyone would be able to hear the voice.

“...central command. You do not have authority for launch. I repeat, you do not have authority to launch. You are to abort immediately.”

Rhys activated the speakers on his chair so that he could reply directly. “This is Captain Rhys Griffiths of the Harvester. We are launching for Alpha Centauri, as the Terran Interplanetary Empire is an unfit place for a captain like me to work. Please send Admiral Garter my apologies.”

There was the sound of a small scuffle at the other end of the speakers, before Admiral Garter’s voice came through. “I knew. The moment Chancellor Roberts gave his verdict, I knew this was inevitable. I don’t have anything else to say but good luck, Rhys. Good luck.”

“I feel like I should have a speech prepared Admiral, like Aaron Lee did, but I don’t. All I have to say is thank you for your efforts in trying to help me, and I hope one day we will meet again as friends,” Rhys said, before turning off the speakers. The communication with New Swansea was terminated. There was no turning back now. Knowing that Admiral Garter had expected this and yet did nothing to prevent it eased Rhys’ mind a lot. The admiral had, in some way, wanted this to be, or at least accepted that it was the only thing that could realistically happen.

“Engine strength down to ninety percent,” Chekhov warned as the ship powered away from New Swansea and into the night sky.

“Then prepare the ionic engines and deploy them once engines hit fifty percent,” Rhys said. Until that critical level they would continue to have enough power to keep lifting the ship up through the atmosphere. After that, they would begin to fall.

A lot of the tension had been relieved on the bridge thanks to Admiral Garter’s seeming blessing of the defection. Rhys doubted there would be any resistance to their departure, the admiral wouldn’t allow it. All they had to worry about in the immediate future was the longevity of the engines and Chekhov’s ability to guide the ship away from Cymru.

For a few moments Rhys felt they would be able to make it out of Cymru’s atmosphere, but then the ship shuddered once and it was obvious it was losing speed, fast.

“Engine strength falling. Below forty percent. Ionic engines activated,” Mathers said, and the ship was suddenly thrown upwards as the more powerful ionic engines switched on. The fuel engines cut out and died as the Harvester broke away from Cymru.

“We’ve escaped orbit,” Chekhov said. Too far. They had gone too high, and were now drifting through open space. That would make Scott’s task a lot tougher to guide them with pinpoint accuracy to Alpha Centauri, though the navigator was already hard at work to recalibrate his figures.

“Stabilising speed. We’re in orbit around Sirius A in the same path as Cymru,” Chekhov said.

While Scott worked at establishing exactly where they were and the exact moment when they needed to reactivate the engines, there was little anyone else could do but wait as they drifted around in orbit. Though there was a sense of urgency, there was little concern for any imminent danger. There were no military ships on Cymru that could give chase, and word of their defection could not have travelled to Celta so quickly. By the time that happened, they would be well on their way.

It took the navigator just five minutes to plot out their new course, and everyone waited patiently for the time to come when Chekhov could activate the engines. There was a little tension around the bridge, as everyone kept glancing in the direction of McDonald, waiting for him to indicate Celta was in contact, but that moment never came.

“Three minutes,” Scott warned the crew. Chekhov needed no such information of course, he had been in perfect sync with the navigator ever since Scott had determined the time of departure. The pilot was triple-checking the data values he had inserted into the computer, making sure that when he punched in the button to start the engines, they would react exactly as anticipated.

Given that there had continued to be nothing but silence from Celta, Rhys felt confident that they were safely away from Sirius. Now they had to get through the open space that lay between them and Alpha Centauri, and somehow avoid being targeted and destroyed upon their arrival at the CGP controlled star.

“In three, two, and now,” Scott said to Chekhov at the front end of the bridge. The ionic engines activated, and with a sudden increase in g-force that was quickly nullified by the ship’s artificial gravity, they were away. The small planet of Cymru quickly receded to a distant speck, had it been visible from the bridge.

It did not take the Harvester long to free itself of Sirius’ gravity, and they were soon drifting through open space on a direct course for Alpha Centauri, if Scott’s calculations had been to their usual precision. The journey was a slightly longer one than the one to Sol, and it would take them the best part of six days to get there. It was very nearly the furthest journey any manned craft had ever travelled. The only one more distant was the one from Romulus when it was on the far side of Sirius to Alpha Centauri.

Rhys had hoped for a relatively uneventful journey, but he was denied this after less than a day of travel. From the moment Sarah Pool yelled out, “Ship detected,” the bridge became a flurry of activity, nowhere more so than the right of the bridge, where van den Berg and Simms were stationed.

Within five seconds of Pool’s warning, van den Berg called, “Shields active.”

“Weapons also online and ready to fire,” Simms added a few seconds later.

“Hold your fire until ships are identified,” Rhys ordered. It was no use making any enemies now; attacking a CGP ship would not go down well as they sought refuge there, and Rhys didn’t feel detached enough from TIE to assault his former allies.

“Ships identified. The Boudicca, the Chaplain, and the Revenge,” Pool said, identifying three TIE ships Rhys was familiar with by name only. “None have any shields or weapons activated, and will pass by at a closest range of six thousand miles.”

“Maybe they don’t know about us yet,” Twitch said quietly.

“They’d easily be able to check our course if they chose to,” Rhys replied. If they did, they’d know within an instant that their destination was Alpha Centauri, and that the Harvester could be considered a CGP craft.

A deathly silence fell upon the bridge, as though the three distant ships could somehow hear their talk and know that they were now an enemy. The tension remained until Pool finally announced that all ships were out of range and sight.

Rhys exhaled deeply. “Disable weapons and lower shields, thank you Ms van den Berg. Excellent speed as usual,” he said. Van den Berg smiled faintly at Rhys as she left the bridge: Simms had been about to relieve her just before the threat had emerged.

Tension drained from the room as the potential danger passed. Between the panicked moments when another ship approached, there was little to shake the monotony of space travel. With the exception of the systems operator, the operations crew only needed to keep a casual eye on their equipment to make sure nothing was changing or behaving unexpectedly. There wasn’t even any opportunity to just sit and watch the stars slowly go by in the very far distance.

Rhys chose to stay on the bridge, even though Twitch’s presence meant he wasn’t strictly required. He passed the time by speaking with his first officer, where their conversation mainly lingered on David, and his continued studies with Doctor Sparks.

But then Twitch asked a question he had not prepared for at all.

“Do you ever think about having kits? Of starting a family of your own?”

Rhys was stunned. “No, never thought about it before. I’ve had too much to worry about to be thinking about kits,” he said, then fell silent.

He had never thought about a family of his own. Ever since his first love, Stephanie Evans died, he had not once even entertained the idea of a family. It had never been a desire of his, partly because of his work, but also the lack of anyone to settle down with.

“It’s pretty much the only thing I can’t have with David, and probably the only thing I really regret. But I suppose that any kits you have would technically be mine too,” Twitch continued when Rhys remained silent.

“I really haven’t thought about it,” Rhys said again. But the idea was there now, and he could already feel it gaining strength in his mind. When his life had settled down to some semblance of normality he wanted to build a family with Steph. But that could still be quite some time, and Rhys was well aware of that.

Rhys relieved himself from the bridge not long later, leaving Twitch in command of the ship as he returned back to his quarters. Though he tried to sleep, he couldn’t rid his head of the many thoughts in his head, all clamouring for his conscious attention. Some troubled him, and others made him excited, and yet nervous at the same time. He was still awake when Steph joined him an hour later, and it was a lot longer before he was finally able to sleep.

It was rare for a ship to pass by another on interstellar journeys. Constant planetary movements meant that even two ships travelling in opposite directions between the same two points would rarely come into range of each other. To have two separate incidents of crossing paths with another ship was almost unprecedented, and yet, three days after leaving Cymru, the systems operator of the Harvester picked up the signal of another ship.

This time it was Dewson who made the call. “Rogue body detected,” he called. Rhys was about to make the call to activate the shields and weapons, when the systems operator added, “Christ, it’s the St Peter.”

“Shit. Hold fire, keep shields down. Mr McDonald, keep radio silence unless hailed first,” Rhys said, following standard procedure when encountering the flagship of the small Papal fleet. The St Peter only ever left Mars when Pope Adamantius was aboard.

It was a fate worse than death to show aggression towards the leader of the Papacy, and for that reason alone no captain would dare even raise their shields in the presence of the St Peter. Few had ever dared since the re-emergence of the Papacy as a significant power. There had once been a rebel group based within TIE that had opposed the power of the Church, and they had conceived a plot to destroy the Vatican’s spiritual home in Rome. They had almost succeeded, but a member of their party turned traitor and turned them in. Every single man, woman, and mustelid enlisted in the rebel group soon vanished, taken to the bowels of the Papal territory on Mars. None had been seen again to tell of what the punishment had been, and none of the cardinals were willing to divulge their secrets.

No one showed aggression to the Papacy.

“Why would he be out here?” Chekhov mused aloud as the St Peter passed by at a relatively close distance of seven hundred miles. It was a just question. No high-ranking member of the Vatican had been to Alpha Centauri since the breaking of the war, let alone the Pope himself.

“I can only imagine he’s trying to broker a peace treaty, but why now? What’s changed?” Rhys said.

For a moment there was silence, but then Twitch provided the perfect answer.

“Because TIE are afraid the CGP will take the Sirius System,” the first officer said.

Though the Vatican claimed neutrality between the two warring factions of humanity, there was little doubt that they were biased towards TIE over many matters. Not only were the Vatican based deep within TIE territory, but the Vatican also found issue with the CGP’s positive treatment of mustelids. There was some who whispered – very quietly – that TIE was controlled more by the Vatican than Windsor Castle.

Rhys breathed easier when Dewson announced the St Peter had passed beyond sight and range.

A third warning of an approaching ship caught Rhys completely off guard. He was off the bridge at the time, but the systems operator always set off an alarm whenever they caught a rogue body on their sensors.  By the time Rhys reached the bridge though, it had already been declared a false alarm. Pool had quickly realised that the nearby body was in fact not an approaching ship, but a comet orbiting Alpha Centauri just outside the Hades Cloud.

The sinisterly named cloud was in fact a completely harmless layer of fine dust and rock particles that drifted almost lazily around Alpha Centauri at the furthest reaches of its gravitational pull, much like Sol’s Oort Cloud.

From inside the Harvester, passing through the Hades Cloud sounded like sand constantly being poured on the ship’s hull; a prolonged and quiet bristling noise. A few dull thuds reverberated around the bridge as large pieces of space debris impacted the ship, but Rhys wasn’t unduly concerned. He knew his ship was capable of taking much harder hits than the Hades Cloud could muster.

The Hades Cloud heralded the beginning of the last leg of their journey, and Rhys for one was relieved. Everyone was tired. It was hard to sleep well during interstellar flight, and the crew was just looking forward to being back on solid ground again. Of course, they still had to safely communicate with the CGP before they got too close to the inner planets, but Rhys was hopeful they would be able to get in contact before long.

“Captain Griffiths, you may want to take a look at this,” Chekhov said suddenly, breaking Rhys out of his musings. The pilot sounded concerned.

“I don’t like the sound of that, Mr Chekhov, what have you got for me?” Rhys asked, hopping down to glance at the pilot’s computer. Scott’s junior officer, Cameron Riley, also leaned across to see what Chekhov was concerned about, in case he needed to make any adjustments to their course.

Rhys couldn’t initially see what had worried Chekhov, but when the pilot pointed it out it all became clear.

“The Denitchev particle feeder has stopped working, and the ionic engines are quickly losing their warp effect,” the pilot explained.

Rhys had never understood the science behind the Denitchev particles, or how they reacted so uniquely with ionic discharges. What Rhys did know was that without the warp effect they provided, the final leg that would have taken just fifteen or so hours could now take months. The Harvester did not carry enough supplies to last more than a few weeks.

“Is there any way of fixing it?” Rhys asked. Before becoming first officer, Twitch had been the best mechanic on Ceres. If anyone could repair an ailing ship, it was the mustelid.

Chekhov shook his head. “If my readings are right, it looks like the whole thing needs replacing. We won’t be able to fix this until we’ve landed.”

Rhys ran his hands through his hair and clenched at his ears. Not now. Not when they were so close.

They had no choice. They could not afford to spend months alone in space.

“Mr McDonald, put out an SOS signal, all frequencies. The Harvester is compromised and we need urgent assistance,” Rhys told his communications officer.

An audible groan passed around the bridge as they heard this. Like Rhys, his crew had been looking forward to groundfall, but now they faced a wait of unknown length. They were in the hands of the CGP now, hopeful that there was a ship within range of their SOS, and that they trusted a lone TIE craft. They faced the grim fact that they may not survive if they received no assistance. Modern spacecraft weren’t equipped for journeys of any significant length of time, since they simply weren’t required. That left them vulnerable in a state of emergency, and Rhys bit his lip as he was forced to put faith in unknown strangers.

Rhys delegated to Twitch the task of informing the rest of the ship their situation, not because he didn’t want to face their disappointment and fear, but because he didn’t dare leave the bridge. He paced around McDonald’s station until the communications officer politely asked him to stop, whereupon he returned to his chair in the centre of the bridge, waiting, just waiting for that call from another ship.

Time dragged by, and what felt like weeks was simply the passing of two hours, in which time Rhys had gnawed all the claws on one hand down to blunt stubs, and was setting to work on his other hand. He had grown used to feeling helpless over the last few months, but never had he felt like this. He had been forced to place his career and his future in the hands of others, but never before had he placed his very life into the responsibility and whims of others. That it was people he didn’t even know only exasperated matters.

Rhys had started thinking out contingency plans should the worst happen and no one get in contact. It was somewhat beneficial that so many of the service crew had chosen to remain behind on Cymru, as that was a significant number of people Rhys no longer had to accommodate, prolonging food, water, and oxygen. Even so, it would take a very strict regime of rations to even raise a chance of everyone surviving. It was a situation every captain dreaded: facing the prospect of having to choose who survived and who died.

No one spoke to Rhys, they all gave him a wide berth and time to think. Not even Twitch, who had returned to the bridge looking weary and haggard, came close to Rhys. His crew understood the dangers and the agonising wait that potentially lay before them, so they didn’t bother their captain with unnecessary remarks or questions. The truth of the matter though, was that Rhys desperately wanted someone to approach him. He wanted someone to guide his thoughts and to console his fears. He needed someone to place their arm around his shoulder and to provide the support he felt he lacked.

Most of all, he wanted Steph, and he was on the verge of standing up and walking out of the bridge when the unthinkable happened.

McDonald raised his arm, the traditional signal that told the captain he had been hailed.

The communications officer switched the incoming transmission to the main speakers so everyone could hear.

“... hold your position, we are launching from Centaura and will rendezvous with you as soon as possible.”

“This is Captain Rhys Griffiths of the Harvester, and I thank you for your offer of assistance. We’re stranded in the Hades Cloud with no warp,” Rhys told the unseen voice. He only just managed to keep his voice calm and steady, when he was smiling as broadly as he had ever done.

“Understood, Captain,” the voice replied. “We’ve locked on to your position and will be with you in approximately twenty-four hours. This is Ben Kennedy of the Terrestrial Dawn, over and out.”

A crackle and beep sounded as the transmission ended. No one dared speak as very slowly, all eyes turned to the frozen captain standing dumbstruck in the centre of the bridge.

“Did... did he say Terrestrial Dawn?” Rhys said eventually, falling back into his chair as his legs suddenly lost all their strength.

“Yeah, it definitely sounded like that,” Twitch said weakly.

Rhys chuckled nervously, though inside his chest his heart hammered wildly. “Looks like Aaron Lee is coming to rescue us,” he said, and slowly the broad smile returned to his face. Not only were they being rescued, but it was Rhys’ best friend and most trusted companion who was coming to meet them.

The last time they had met hadn’t been on the best of circumstances. Aaron Lee had just announced his defection from TIE, and Rhys was there to facilitate the Terrestrial Dawn’s peaceful departure from Ceres alone with any others from the dwarf planet’s surface. Matters had been tense as Rhys had pointed out the two were technically enemies from that moment on. Now they would meet again, friends once more.

Rhys’ nervous chuckle turned into overjoyed laughter. Aaron would ensure their safe arrival within the CGP. With him, he had a powerful friend and devoted ally. No longer would they have to fear being shot down on their approach to the rebel star system. In a matter of minutes, Rhys’ entire outlook on his future had changed. They weren’t facing likely starvation and death; they were facing rescue and joyful reunions.

Twenty-four hours could not pass by soon enough.