Chapter Six

Rhys was awake early the next morning. Truth was he had barely even slept at all, so nervous was he for the briefing. It would be the first time he was going to be publically recognisable as Captain Rhys Griffiths, the mustelid. He showered, groomed his fur, and dressed in the same mustelid uniform he had worn the previous day with his captain’s epaulettes pinned to the shoulders. He was ready to leave well in advance, but he couldn’t screw up the courage to leave the security of his quarters. Then the time came when he had to leave. He couldn’t permit himself to be late, so he took a deep breath, gave himself a mental dressing-down, and took a few confident steps towards his door. That was as far as his confidence took him, and from there he scampered through the shadows, avoiding eye contact with everyone until he reached the control tower.

His hand shook as he keyed in his passcode, sliding open the door. Admiral Garter and Captains LeFavre and Baron were already present, as was Cardinal Erik. Whatever reaction Rhys anticipated, he didn’t expect nothing at all, but that was all he got. No one even gave any indication that he had entered the room.

Clearing his throat, Rhys took a couple of steps forward.

Captain LeFavre was the first to look up. “Yes?” he asked with a cold edge in his voice Rhys had never heard before.

“Captain Griffiths,” Rhys said, tapping his chest.

At the sound of his voice, the other three men looked up. Their expressions could hardly be more varied. Captain Baron was quite indifferent and seemed to look right through him before returning to the paperwork on the table. Cardinal Erik looked as though he was bearing witness to the single most unpleasant thing to have occurred in his life, while Admiral Garter simply looked relieved.

“Ah, Captain Griffiths, glad you could make it,” the admiral said. Rhys simply nodded his head in acknowledgement. He was rather unnerved by the look of absolute loathing and hatred in Cardinal Erik’s eyes, and didn’t quite trust his voice at the moment. Rhys couldn’t recall seeing such passionate fury in someone’s eyes before. He quailed slightly under the cardinal’s gaze, and stood at the table as far from the red-robed Martian as he could.

“What’s the latest then?” Rhys asking, silently cursing how timidly he spoke. He shouldn’t have to be afraid of these people; he had known them all in a working capacity for many years. He had never felt the need to fear them before; he didn’t know why he needed to start now.

“Surprisingly little,” Admiral Garter admitted, seeming to not notice or ignore the various reactions Rhys’ arrival had sparked. “CGP movements within the Sol System are minimal and, though I had expected some by last night at the latest, there has been no contact from Terra.”

“I have received word from the Vatican,” the cardinal interjected, stepping forward and keeping his eyes anywhere but looking at Rhys. “His Grace, Pope Adamantius has expressed his displeasure at the perceived lack of effort given down to tracking his missing disciple, Cardinal Iain Jones.”

Though Admiral Garter had appeared surprised and not a bit alarmed to hear of the cardinal’s communication with the pope, this had quickly turned to exasperation. He removed his glasses and rubbed the sides of his nose. “Can you please inform Adamantius that there is nothing we can do. His cardinal boarded the Terrestrial Dawn in Romulus and did not disembark here, so we can only assume he is still onboard, en route to Alpha Centauri. Can you also remind Adamantius that he has far more influence within the CGP than we do, so it would be a better use of his time to conduct the search himself, rather than pestering us about it.”

Cardinal Erik looked like he had been struck in the face.

“If Cardinal Iain had wanted to make himself known, he had opportunity enough to do so when I was onboard,” Rhys added, forcing the cardinal to look at him for just an instant – plenty of time for a patronising sneer to form on his face. Rhys turned away, not liking the self-righteous hunger he saw in the cardinal’s eyes.

Admiral Garter’s intervention was a welcome one. “Spaceways simply cannot afford to waste its resources looking for a man who clearly does not wish to be found by us. Cardinal Iain must have had his reasons for staying on the Terrestrial Dawn. This is a Vatican matter now. Not a TIE one, and certainly not one for Spaceways.”

“I see,” Cardinal Erik said, his disappointment evident. His face was twisted in the manner of one used to getting their own way without exception. He pursed his lips together as his eyes glanced between the three humans in front of him, studiously avoiding the mustelid again. Everyone waited in silence to hear what his next words would be. When they came they were surprisingly accepting.

“Very well,” he said tersely. “I shall inform His Grace of your recommendation.” With a sweep of his robe, Cardinal Erik stalked out of the briefing room.

“Well, now he’s gone, perhaps we can move on with more relevant matters,” Admiral Garter said, for a moment glancing down at a sheet of notes on the table in front of him.

Whatever the admiral’s ideas of what relevant matters were, Captain LeFavre clearly had his own agenda to follow as he started speaking before Admiral Garter had even looked back up. “Lieutenant Cooper has applied for a transfer to my ship,” he said loudly and confrontationally. He looked down at Rhys for just a fraction of a second. Rhys knew why. The Cerian was assessing his reaction.

Rhys glanced across at Admiral Garter, who looked every bit as surprised as Rhys felt about the sudden announcement.

Rhys was the first to respond. “I think you might want to think twice about accepting that transfer, Captain LeFavre,” he said quietly. “Mr Cooper is currently facing charges of insubordination, and is not free to apply for any position within Spaceways without his current captain’s approval, which I have not granted.”

“He’s not seeking approval. He says he cannot work under such an abomination masquerading as his captain, a reason I understand completely, and am willing to back as exceptional circumstances,” Captain LeFavre said very slowly and deliberately.

“Abomination? Is that what you think of me now?” Rhys snarled, clenching his fists by his side. His anger had been kindled now, and it quickly overcame his nervousness. He had already stood up to one human in this body and fared reasonably well. He did not doubt his ability to do the same again.

 “Enough of this,” Admiral Garter said firmly, defusing a potentially volatile situation. “LeFavre, Griffiths, both of you hold your tongues and treat each other with the respect your ranks deserve.”

Captain LeFavre started in surprise. Rhys doubted the more experienced captain had expected Admiral Garter to defend Rhys from his verbal attacks. Captain LeFavre’s reaction, however, had been exactly what Rhys had anticipated.

“But, Admiral Garter...”

“I will hear no more of it, Captain LeFavre. Mr Cooper does not have authority to apply for a position on your ship for the reasons Captain Griffiths has already explained. Until you can both clear your heads you will stay apart from each other. We shall re-convene tomorrow at the same time. I trust you will both be on better behaviour then.”

Rhys, surprised by the sudden adjournment of the meeting, turned to leave first, but Admiral Garter put his hand on Rhys’ shoulder. “I want you to remain behind a few moments, Captain Griffiths.”

Captain LeFavre leered at Rhys as he left, obviously expecting some kind of trouble to befall the mustelid. Captain Baron hung back a few moments to exchange a brief, quiet conversation with the admiral. When he left he did so without even looking at Rhys. He shut the door behind him.

Rhys wasn’t sure which reaction he could tolerate better: the indifference of Captain Baron or the outright hostility of Captain LeFavre. Neither was particularly pleasant.

“Is anything wrong, Admiral?” Rhys asked timidly. He was definitely very intimidated by the admiral at the moment, but that was soon dispelled.

“Just three questions on my behalf, Captain. Nothing to concern yourself with,” Admiral Garter said. He pointed Rhys to one of the chairs around the table, which he declined. Rhys was still more comfortable standing up. The admiral however did sit down, which brought him almost to the same height as the mustelid. “I need to know if you’re capable of speaking at Mr Cooper’s trial, which starts tomorrow afternoon. And have you been able to identify a new first officer to replace Cooper with?”

 “To both, the answer is yes. But I believe that is just two questions? Unless I have lost my ability to count, that is,” Rhys said playfully.

Admiral Garter did not laugh, but he did smile. “I think it would be best to get you away from Ceres. How do you feel about some time back on Terra?”

“Going closer to the emperor and Chancellor Roberts? I thought it might be better to avoid them for a while, Admiral,” Rhys said uncertainly.

“I wouldn’t send you to London, naturally. There are a few ports with vacancies at the moment. I can look up which one would be best for you at the moment.”

“If you’re sure, Admiral,” Rhys said, still not at all convinced. Yes, he wanted to get away from Ceres, he had grown frustrated with how backwards the place was, in ideals and the quality of technology. Terra though was not his preferred destination. He would much rather get as far away from the centre of the Terran Empire as possible, and that meant the Sirius System. Still, he had to obey the admiral’s wishes. He could only hope that the veteran was right in sending him to Terra. He may be able to find some isolated corner away from the eyes of Windsor Castle.

“Excellent. I’ll find you a nice quiet port to stay at for a few months. But first, I think you need to be filled in a little more about the chancellor’s visit,” Admiral Garter said.

Rhys wondered what further there was to add over the past day, but he let the admiral continue.

“Of course, Chancellor Roberts was suitably impressed with you, and with our concerns with the defences here. That matter at least will be discussed with the emperor in depth.”

“And my matter will be scrapped from the agenda at the first opportunity, I assume?” Rhys finished.

“Why do you say that?”

“You saw Captain LeFavre’s reaction. Look at me and say that the chancellor or the emperor is going to want me as captain of one of their ships.”

“You’ve told me that you feel you’re fit for command still, and I shall inform the chancellor of that in turn. Until you believe you are no longer suitable for command, you will remain captain of the Harvester, and you will still receive my recommendation for admiral.”

“I don’t think I can thank you enough,” Rhys said in gratitude. He sincerely wished that everyone else in Spaceways was this positive to his new identity, but he also knew that he was asking for far too much.

“You don’t have to. I trust your opinion on your own state of mind,” Admiral Garter said, waving away Rhys’ thanks like one would swat away a fly. “But I would like to know who will be helping you on your ship. Who have you chosen as your new first officer? I’m quite intrigued to know who you’ve picked out,” he asked.

Rhys smiled. “I’ve chosen Mr Christopher Hall,” he replied.

“Forgive me, I don’t think I’m familiar with that person,” the admiral replied, his brow furrowed in concentration and thought.

“You could say he is me. Or, more correctly, I am him.”

The admiral choked, and then he started laughing for the first time in Rhys’ presence. “You appointed a mustelid as first officer? That’s going to meet some resistance in your crew,” he said, but he did not hint that he was against the idea at all.

“If anyone opposes, then they will meet the same fate as Mr Cooper,” Rhys said. He would try and refrain from biting them though, he silently added to himself.

“This will take a lot of courage. Not just on your behalf either. I know you do not lack the courage for this, but I hope Mr Hall is up for the task too. He will receive a lot of criticism before your crew will accept him.”

Rhys nodded. He was sure that Twitch was up to the task.

“Very well. Again, I trust your opinion on this, Captain. You’re relieved for the remainder of the day. Meet me back here at 0900 tomorrow for another captain’s meeting. I’m hoping for word from Terra which is already quite delayed. They should have decided how much additional funding this spaceport will be receiving. After that we can proceed with the case against your former crew member. I hardly need remind you again, but please try and keep your temper in check. You don’t want to provoke anyone else.”

Rhys took the rebuke silently as he saluted his superior. He turned quickly to leave. He didn’t want the admiral to see the broad smile on his face, displaying so proudly his elation and relief that he still had allies amongst humans.

Though Rhys was tempted to head right back to the mustelid quarters, he found himself, more through habit than anything else, heading towards where the Harvester was docked. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided to just carry on walking. He had to reintroduce himself to his crew sooner or later. There was little point in continuing to put it off.

Given the lack of duties his crew would have around the ship, Rhys didn’t expect to see many about, especially in conjunction with the still-early time.

The bridge was deserted, as Rhys had anticipated. The large windows were shuttered, not that there was any view beyond them he could have seen. All the large, air-tight shutters obscured was the internal wall of the docking bay. Around the bridge were the workstations for the various officers of the operations crew that were necessary to the optimal running of the ship. The captain was always in the very centre of the bridge, with the first officer directly to his right, and communications to his left. Jermaine McDonald was the current communications officer for the Harvester, a young man who Rhys hoped to keep on his crew. All positions on the operations crew also held a cadet officer. Marianne Watkins was the cadet communications officer. She had only graduated from Ceres Academy in nearby Brittany two weeks before the Harvester had docked in Normandy. Rhys knew next to nothing about her.

On the right wall of the bridge sat the weapons officer and the systems operator, whose duty it was to keep a very watchful eye on the various scanners and sensory arrays the ship used to detect potential threats. It was a very exhausting position, especially during the long voyages, so this was the only position on the bridge that required two senior officers to fill it. The most important aspect of that job had been to find and locate CGP crafts before the enemy found them. In the emptiness of space the problem of that job wasn’t locating the enemy. There was nowhere to hide. It was achieving the goal before they could, for interstellar battles were often short and lethal. It was a case of identify, activate the defensive shields, and fire all weapons. If the shields were not activated in time, then the ship would be ripped apart by the hostile weaponry. If both systems officers were alert and both ships activated their shields in time, then the two ships would glide past each other, maintaining their shields until they were well beyond sight and range. It was an exhausting job, for the systems officer had to be alert and in tune with their equipment for the entire flight.

Kim van den Burgh was the Harvester’s weapons officer. She was a diminutive woman with an equally short temper. In the very rare mid-flight combat situations that arose during inter-planetary and inter-stellar flights, van den Burgh operated the ship’s defensive shields and coordinated the handful of weapons operators stationed throughout the ship. She also had a reputation for abusing mustelids, though Rhys had never been able to confirm this. He had never really sought to do so for that matter, but now he was very concerned about her future on his crew. The cadet officer under her care, Deborah Simms was little better, as far as Rhys was concerned. The two were best friends and had never, to Rhys’ awareness, disagreed over anything.

Sarah Pool was the systems officer on the Harvester, with Jordan Dewson her senior assistant. Pool had come through the same academy as Rhys, the Cardiff Spaceways Academy, though she was a few years younger than her captain. Rhys had never seen her come to anger, despite the stress he knew she had to go through. He did not envy her. The systems officer was not an easy position on a large ship like the Harvester.

Dewson was a fresh-faced young man, only a year and a half out of the Sydney Academy. Rhys had been very impressed with the young man in the four months he had been working on the Harvester, yet he harboured a few doubts about how tolerant the man was around mustelids. He had used them as the subject of many jokes when he didn’t think Rhys was within earshot. He was also good friends with van den Burgh.

Their cadet officer was James Sutherland. Older than both of the senior systems officers, Sutherland had worked on civilian spaceships for Branson Ltd before transferring to Spaceways. His experience had been very useful in helping the two young systems officers adapt to the difficulties of space travel.

On the other side of the ship were the workstations for the ship’s pilot and navigator. Traditionally, both the captain and first officer were able to act as navigators, but in modern space flight the role had become too complex to merge with other duties. With the rise in inter-stellar flights, the position of a dedicated navigator became too important to overlook. A small error at the beginning of a long distance flight could result in being off course by hundreds of thousands of miles by the end.

The Harvester’s pilot was another young man, this one being a product of the much-lauded Moscow Academy. Aleksandr Chekhov had graduated, like Rhys, with almost every honour available to him. He had requested to work on the Harvester, and refused every other posting until his wishes were granted. Chekhov idolised Rhys. In the Russian’s first few months he could hardly speak in the presence of his captain, but he had thankfully overcome that. Rhys had never been comfortable with such levels of fanaticism.

Chekhov’s cadet officer was Donald Mathers, who had graduated from the Houston Academy. He wasn’t anywhere near as good as Chekhov, but Rhys knew that was an unfair comparison. The Russian was the best pilot he had ever seen. Combined with the best navigator Spaceways had ever seen, Rhys boasted a formidable crew.

Edgar Scott was the final member of the operations crew. His speed and accuracy in his navigation were unrivalled by anyone. He was also a remarkably loyal person. Though he had several times been offered the navigator’s role on Emperor Neicwyk’s flagship, he had always refused, citing his dedication to working alongside Rhys. Cameron Riley, the junior navigator, was being groomed as Scott’s natural successor. Already Riley was showing greater ability than many senior navigators.

Rhys had sat down in his chair in the centre of the bridge, musing over the best way to reintroduce himself to his crew when someone spoke. “Can I help you?” It was Edgar Scott.

Jumping out of his seat, Rhys turned to face Scott. He hadn’t even heard the navigator come onto the bridge.

“I... uh...” Rhys found his voice absent again. Edgar Scott was a tall man, and had always stood considerably above Rhys before. Now he absolutely towered over him.

“Well? Spit it out if it’s important. Otherwise just leave or I’ll send for the captain,” Scott said. There wasn’t any particular malice in his words, just impatience.

Just behind Scott was Chekhov. The young Russian was peering inquisitively past the navigator, his wide blue eyes shining with the same curious spark that Rhys often saw in Twitch’s eyes. There was recognition there too. Chekhov had seen was Scott had not.

“Edgar,” the pilot said slowly, putting his hand over Scott’s elbow. “I think this is...” Chekhov paused, obviously not confident enough in his perception to vocalise it just yet.

Rhys slowly nodded. “I am Captain Rhys Griffiths,” he said softly.

This time it was Scott’s turn to lose his voice completely. He had gone very pale. “I’m sorry. I didn’t recognise you,” he managed to splutter out a little indistinctly.

Rhys smirked. “Don’t worry, Mr Scott. I barely recognise me at the moment,” he said.

“I thought it was some sort of joke, when Admiral Garter told us yesterday,” Chekhov said. He took a couple of steps past the motionless Scott. “Now I can see... Now this is... It’s real.” Chekhov shook his head in amazement. “This is revolutionary.”

“I don’t intend on starting any revolutions, Mr Chekhov,” Rhys said, keeping his voice firm. Internally though he had relaxed greatly. It didn’t seem like either Chekhov or Scott were going to be rejecting him as captain, as Cooper had done. In fact, if anything, Chekhov seemed to have reverted to his original opinion of absolute awe towards Rhys.

“Intend to or not, this is going to change things,” Scott said, finding his voice again.

Rhys looked down at his feet. There only seemed to be two reactions to his transformation. People either looked towards him with absolute loathing or expected him to be the catalyst to a mustelid revolution. He didn’t particularly like either of those. But, at the same time, Rhys had already learnt enough to know that it was naive to think that everything would remain the same. Something had to change. Whether for the better or the worse, he was not yet sure. It could go either way. It all depended on who determined his fate; if it was someone like Captain LeFavre, or more like Admiral Garter or Scott.

Scott seemed to recognise Rhys’ discomfort with the idea, as he bent down on one knee to descend to a better level to speak with his captain. “Change is not necessarily bad, Captain. There are good people out there. They’re not all people like Cooper. The admiral won’t let something like this stand in your way. You shouldn’t either.”

“I know. I try, but it’s hard. I can’t hope on everyone supporting me like Admiral Garter does,” Rhys replied.

“Initially, no, of course not,” was Scott’s response. “But in time people will see how little you really have changed, and you’ll earn their respect back.”

Rhys looked between the two men in front of him. “And I’ll have your support, no matter what?” he asked them.

There was no hesitation before Chekhov pledged to support Rhys without condition. Scott was a little more cautious. “If I can see you’ve changed, if I feel that at any point you are unfit in your duties, I will withdraw my support. Having said that, I don’t think that will happen any time soon,” he said.

“I appreciate that,” Rhys said simply. He turned his back on the two humans and looked out over the bridge. There was no view to appreciate but the collection of computers and instruments used to pilot the ship. It was such a familiar sight. Rhys knew every inch on the bridge of his ship. It was also the last place he really wanted to be now. “I’m sorry gentlemen, but there’s somewhere else I need to be now. Please have the rest of the crew alerted to be on the ready for departure, and get Mr Briggs to do the same for the services crew. I don’t imagine we’ll remain here for much longer.”

“Understood, Captain,” Scott said, stepping back to leave the bridge. He put his arm on Chekhov’s shoulder and pulled him away too. They left Rhys alone, but he didn’t linger for long. After waiting for just long enough to avoid catching up with the two humans, Rhys also left the empty bridge behind him. He had only one destination in mind. He would be going back to the mustelids’ quarters. He had to admit, he already missed their enthusiastic company.