“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.”