Chapter Nine

“Captain, we’re all set to leave,” Twitch squeaked over the noise of the bridge. He looked frankly quite bizarre in his white shirt and dark trousers. To the untrained eye, he was virtually identical to Rhys, the only difference being he wore three silver stripes on his epaulettes, whereas Rhys wore four gold stripes.

Sat on his chair overlooking proceedings, Rhys acknowledged the call from first officer. He then signalled to his communications officer, Jermaine McDonald. The man knew what he had to do. “Ground control, this is the Harvester. We’re all set for launch.”

“Ground control to Harvester, message received and understood. Bay doors are fully open. You may launch in your own time,” was the reply from across the speakers. The voice was distorted and grainy. Rhys was looking forward to going somewhere that had fully functioning technology.

“Alright then Mr Chekhov, let’s get this ship moving,” Rhys said to the ship’s pilot. With barely a moment’s hesitation, the ship began to shake as the launch engines began to rumble. Slowly at first the ship began to rise as it gradually gathered momentum. The ship was not designed for atmospheric travel. It was about as aerodynamic as the brick its design resembled.

The dull vista of Ceres was left behind them as they passed through a thin layer of clouds. The fuel-propelled engines were roaring at full throttle now as they strained to lift the unwieldy ship out of the friction-filled air.

The sky was a brilliant, vibrant blue as they neared the edge of the atmosphere, and then it was black. The engines died as it finished consuming the last of the oil-based fuel delegated for the launch procedures. The ship slowly rolled to its side until the bridge windows were looking directly back down at Ceres.

“Captain, we’re now in orbit in the upper atmosphere around Ceres,” Chekhov said, glancing at his computer screen.

“Alright Mr Scott, it’s time to work your magic. Set course for orbit around Terra,” Rhys said.

Scott was already at work, filling in many series of numbers and coordinates into his computer to determine the exact course they would need to take. There were so many variables that had to be considered, notwithstanding small objects that may, and probably were, in the way. Because of the distance being covered, even the slightest miscalculation on Scott’s behalf could result in being massively off course. Even on such a relatively short journey, absolute precision was necessary.

“Coordinates set. Four minutes and fourteen seconds until correct trajectory is acquired from our current orbit,” Scott said after barely a minute.

“Then let’s get these windows shut and prepare for a quick journey gentlemen,” Rhys said. The thick metal shutters slammed shut in front of the windows. Glass was one of the many things that weakened the structure of the ship in spaceflight, but it was deemed necessary to maintain a safe landing and launch. To accommodate that, the windows were barred behind the airtight shutters during travel, and only opened again when the ship was in orbit around an atmospheric body. Ceres was soon hidden from view.

Scott and Chekhov were in constant communication. The navigator and pilot were the two of the most closely linked roles. One couldn’t function without the other. Scott needed to inform exactly how much thrust Chekhov had to apply from the ion engines, and the precise moment when he had to do so. Chekhov checked his computer’s clock was synced to the tenth of a second to Scott’s computer for the fourth time. There could be no margin for error.

Rhys counted down the seconds in his head. The moment came. The moment passed. Three further seconds came and went.

Without a sound, the ship threw itself forward in sudden acceleration, leaving Ceres well behind in an instant.

“Correct trajectory acquired,” Scott said after a glance at his computer confirmed it. “We’re on course for Terra.”

Rhys had miscounted. He made a mental note to himself never to try and count more accurately than a navigator’s computer. “Well done Mr Scott, Mr Chekhov,” Rhys said, glad that his temporary concern had been for naught. He turned to the ship’s systems officer. “Mr Dewson, we’re relying on you now.”

Though Sarah Pool was also on the bridge, she had delegated her duties to her assistant for the relatively simple journey to Terra. They usually shared the shift with a rotation period of about six hours, with the junior officer, Sutherland, filling in when necessary. Of course, on such a short trip as this one, neither Pool nor Sutherland would be required. Even Dewson wasn’t really needed, as the likelihood of at CGP craft so deep into TIE territory was miniscule, but protocol had to be followed.

“Mr Chekhov, no concerns from you?” Rhys asked of his pilot.

“No Captain. Engines running at full strength,” was the quick reply from Aleksandr Chekhov. He pulled up on his computer screen a display of several graphs and pie charts of red, green, and yellow. The green was by far the dominant colour. “Temperature, power, and energy insertion all normal.”

“Mr Hall, how about with you? Everything as it should be?” Rhys asked, turning to his first officer who had taken a seat just behind him and to his right. From there he had access to a computer that gave him information on all the non-essential and critical systems of the ship. If anything were to go amiss in any section of the Harvester, then Twitch would be the first to know. So far no one had offered any complaints to Twitch’s presence on the bridge. Rhys wasn’t sure that they dared.

“All online, all working as they should, Captain,” he replied instantly. Silently though, he mouthed, “I don’t know what this one means.”

Rhys glanced over at Twitch’s screen to see what was bothering his first officer. Then he smiled and shook his head. “It’s fine,” he whispered back to Twitch. The message that had concerned Twitch warned that the supply of oil-based fuel had been cut off, and wouldn’t be restored until the ionic engines had been deactivated, as per procedure.

“Mr McDonald, ensure Ceres Ground Control is aware we’re safely away and on course for Terra,” Rhys said, turning back to the bridge.

“I’m on to it, Captain,” McDonald replied. Moments later he was in communication with Ceres, informing them exactly what Rhys had requested.

Scott pushed himself away from his computer, slapped Chekhov on the shoulder, and stood up. He targeted Twitch straight away, and took the first officer to the side to give him some quiet words of advice away from the rest of the crew.

Content that everything that needed to be checked had now been checked, Rhys stood up from his chair and looked around for Twitch and Scott, but they had already left the bridge.

They were only gone a few minutes before Twitch returned with Scott right behind him. The navigator ran a few checks on his computer before turning to the navigator at his right side. “Final velocity reached in three minutes and... twenty-one seconds,” he informed the pilot.

“Understood,” Chekhov said, once again ensuring his computer was precisely synced to Scott’s.

“Captain?” This time it was Twitch, now standing next to Rhys’ side on the slightly raised centre of the bridge that gave the captain a better view of the proceedings. Twitch was holding his tail, nervously twisting and stroking it in his hands. “How do you think I did down there?”

Rhys put his hand on Twitch’s arm to stop him toying with his tail. “You were nervous and a little quiet at times, but you did everything you had to do, and the crew seemed to respect you at least, and that’s all I could ask for from your first launch,” Rhys replied honestly. Twitch smiled weakly. “Just get used to responding to Mr Hall a little better.” There had been a couple of occasions when Twitch had to be called a few times before he had been aware he was being spoken to.

Twitch arched his back slightly and lowered his head so he was looking up at Rhys, despite their equal height. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“Don’t worry about it, you did well,” Rhys said, his hand moving up from Twitch’s arm to his shoulder. “And I’m sure Mr Scott would have told you the exact same thing.”

“Not in those exact words,” Twitch said, his ears angling back as his gratitude for the compliments grew. “But the gist of things was the same.”

“I thought as much,” Rhys said, ruffling the fur on the back of Twitch’s neck, who batted away his hand tamely. Rhys saw some movement to his left and realised they had been approached by the navigator. “Yes, Mr Scott?”

“I can’t tell the two of you apart, I really can’t. You even sound the same,” Scott said, shaking his head as he tried to determine which mustelid in front of him was Rhys. His initial guess was correct.

“Is that all you came to tell us, Mr Scott?” Rhys asked with a smile.

Before Scott could answer, Twitch’s opportunity for mischief could not be ignored. “Mr Hall, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to imitate me,” he said sternly, placing his hands on his hips.

Scott looked from one to the other, his eyes finally resting on Twitch’s shoulder, where he saw his three silver chevrons indicating his rank. “Is your first officer always going to be like this, Captain?” Scott said, pointedly turning to face who he could now identify as Rhys.

“Pretty much, yes,” Rhys said, laughing. If Twitch ever became sober and proper, then Rhys would know that something was wrong. “But you had something more to say?”

“I did, Captain. Your new situation,” Scott said, indicating Rhys’ body with a downward movement of his hand. Rhys was suddenly drawn attention to the face that the two were looking eye to eye, despite Rhys’ raised elevation on the platform.

“What about it?” he asked, filling in the silence left by Scott’s hesitation as he leant on the railing that surrounded much of the raised platform.

“I’m willing, of course, to back you through everything, Captain. A few of the crew will already do the same, and I can help you win over the others to your cause,” Scott said, lowering his voice so only Rhys and Twitch could hear him.

“Who else do we need to work on?” Rhys asked, his voice just as quiet.

“Of the senior crew, obviously Mr Chekhov is safe. He’s still as enamoured with you as he always was, and I believe Mr Dewson’s guilt to be genuine. I think he also has Miss Pool convinced that you can remain a very competent captain. I believe they have Mr Sutherland swayed too,” Scott said, slowly looking around the bridge. However, here he was interrupted.

“Ceasing engine power in one minute,” Chekhov called out from his computer.

Scott shook his head. “I’m needed over there. I’ll get back to you, Captain,” he said, dashing back over to Chekhov. Between them they worked out exactly when they had to switch of the engines to establish a constant speed that would allow them to maintain a safe route through to Terra. At the precise moment the engines switched off with a barely audible click.

The journey was not a long one. It only took a matter of hours to travel between Ceres and the central hub of TIE on Terra. Rhys never even left the bridge before his ship started to descend into the Terran atmosphere just a couple of uneventful hours later.

Scott’s journey was considerably busier, and he was unable to return to Rhys to complete the list of their operations crew. Rhys had already known that Dewson and Chekhov were backing him, but at least the news about Pool and Sutherland had been positive. The trio of systems officers was a good start to win over the rest of the operations crew.

The front windows opened as the ship descended, and Rhys caught a brief glimpse of the Australian continent before the ship changed angle so the oil-based engines were better able to control the descent. Ionic engines were far too powerful to safely control the ship within the atmosphere. After just a few minutes they landed in the Mount Cotton spaceport, in the outer suburbs of the small city of Brisbane.

Unlike on Ceres, the docking port was outside and not cooped up in an old warehouse. Though the local time was just after 4am, the sun had already risen and the temperature quite warm. Also despite the inconvenient time there were already people waiting to greet the crew of the Harvester as they stepped out of their docked ship and into the bright sunlight. The captains of the two other ships in Brisbane, as well as the spaceport’s captain, were there.

Their initial welcoming stances quickly turned to confusion once they saw the identity of the captain and first officer, and it didn’t stop there. Very soon their expressions were of indignation with a touch of loathing. It was clear Admiral Garter had somehow failed to mention that Rhys was no longer human, or his warnings had gone unheeded.

Rhys hadn’t been sure what sort of reaction they were going to receive on Terra, but now it was painfully obvious to him. The three captains in front of him may as well have been three Captain LeFavres. This was not a good idea. He was only able to keep walking because of the pressure Scott exerted on his back.

“Captain Griffiths?” one of them asked, a dark skinned young man that Rhys gathered to be Captain Uwele. Rhys couldn’t help but notice the man’s eyes had drifted up to Scott, as though hoping he was in fact the ship’s captain, and not the mustelid.

“That’s me,” Rhys said hesitantly, almost stumbling as he came to a stop a few feet in front of the now very unenthusiastic welcoming group. “I’m Captain Griffiths of the Harvester. You are?”

“Clearly our request to Admiral Garter was ignored. We didn’t ask for, nor do we want any mustelid with delusions of power,” the captain in the centre, who Rhys took to be Captain Rivers, said, completely disregarding Rhys’ question, and even presence right in front of him. If anything he appeared to be blaming Scott for the situation; as if this was but a prank and the navigator was about to reveal himself as the real captain after all.

Of course no such thing happened.

Rhys bit down on the first response that came to mind, but wisely decided that it would not help matters at all. “I am no mustelid with delusions of power. Until a few weeks ago I was human and treated with utmost respect,” he said slowly, his fear being overtaken by anger.

None of the three captains even seemed to hear Rhys. The one who had not yet spoken, Captain Sykes, looked directly at Edgar Scott. “You can come with us and discuss matters privately,” he said. It was not a request. It was an order, something he was not entitled to do. Scott was part of Rhys’ crew, and as such he only had to listen to orders from Rhys or his superiors. As captains, none of the three men were ranked higher than Rhys himself. The captain hadn’t finished though. “In fact, I’d like all but the mustelids to come with us.”

“I don’t –” Scott started to say, as he was defined by the three captains as the leader of the group, but Rhys pulled his arm down so he could speak quietly into his ear.

“Don’t argue. Just go, make it easier for all of us. Try to make them see reason, but don’t lose control. If we have to keep up this ridiculous masquerade for a little longer then so be it,” he said, trying to keep the fury from his voice. He had never been treated so disrespectfully by anyone since joining Spaceways, nor even could he recall such a time before that.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, now go,” Rhys said firmly and released Scott’s arm. None of the captains even looked at Rhys as Scott and the rest of his crew walked over to them. He snarled at their backs as they turned away and left, leaving Rhys alone with Twitch.

“I think that could have gone better,” Twitch said sullenly.

Rhys had a bad taste in his mouth and didn’t answer for quite some time. He didn’t trust himself to not say what he shouldn’t. Twitch was completely innocent over the situation, but as the only one present he would be the one to feel the full force of Rhys’ rage if he unleashed it. He clenched his hands together, feeling his claws cut into the flesh of his palms. The pain served as a means to release the anger from his system.

Eventually he got control of his emotions again and asked, “Is that a typical response?”

Twitch shrugged. “Pretty much, yes. It’s usually that or being ignored completely,” he said, turning to look at the surroundings.

They were completely alone now, in a small courtyard paved with stone tiles. Rhys couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched, but he couldn’t see anyone else around. All around the courtyard rose several ultra-modern buildings; their purpose indeterminable from the outside. Though they all had many windows marking out four stories in each building, Rhys couldn’t see a face in any of them.

“Well now what, we haven’t been told where to go, and I’ve never been here before, so I don’t know where anything is,” Twitch said, sounding a little exasperated as he threw his arms up into the air.

“We should probably find the mustelids. There has to be some here,” Rhys replied, beginning to get the feeling that they were the only ones who’d give them any sort of reception here. The only problem in that plan lay in knowing where exactly to find them. It had been quite some time since he had last been to the Mount Cotton spaceport, and never had he been interested in finding where the mustelids took up residence.

Though he was tempted to wait around for the return of his crew, Rhys knew that they would not be coming back outside any time soon. He doubted that even the false authority Scott had been given would be enough to eke that out from the three resident captains. In fact, Rhys doubted that he would be permitted to see much of his own crew for the duration of the full month, especially if Scott was unable to change the opinion of the captains.

It took them almost half an hour of aimless wandering, but eventually they were able to obtain directions from the first mustelid they passed, a young female who seemed quite suspicious of Rhys when he introduced himself to her. She did not give her name to them, but was willing to point them in the right direction of the mustelids’ quarters, near the western boundary wall of the port.

Once they knew exactly what they were looking for, the building wasn’t too hard to find. It was easily the oldest looking building on the site, and was probably even built before the spaceport had been constructed around it. The inside of the dark brick building certainly had the feeling of a jail, which had been the original use of the land until half a century ago.

The gloomy corridors were damp and dingy. There were few windows, which were small and let in little light anyway. To either side of the corridors were small rooms, evidently where the mustelids lived. The fittings for the iron bars were still attached to the walls, though the bars themselves were long replaced by flimsy wooden walls and doors.

Eyes stared down at them from shadows in the corners of the wall and ceiling, and in the small alcoves by each of the windows. Rhys didn’t dare to think what sort of life could be living in the nooks and crannies of the building.

Given their rather substandard accommodation, Rhys wasn’t too surprised to see that all the mustelids they passed seemed a lot more subdued than the ones on Ceres. There was no sign of the near-maniacal hyperactivity he had witnessed in some on the dwarf-planet, and Rhys could hardly bring himself to call their dwellings there to be anywhere near ideal. This former prison was even worse.

None of the mustelids approached them. Those few they passed barely even acknowledged them. Twitch leaned forward to whisper in Rhys’ ear, “LeFavre may have had his faults, but at least he gave us somewhere decent to live.”

Rhys nodded. It was becoming very clear that Admiral Garter had made his choice of spaceport very poorly. The three captains here didn’t care for mustelids at all. If this was how they treated them then Rhys knew his chances of getting inside the spaceport proper were practically zero. And yet the alternative was remaining in here. He couldn’t imagine that he’d last a month in the dingy old jail.

 They eventually found their way through to the communal dining room. That room was a little lighter by virtue of the small windows at around human head-height at intervals on one wall. There was also about two dozen mustelids all sat in one corner; an older, grey furred mustelid at their centre.

As soon as Rhys and Twitch entered the room, the older mustelid stood, brushing off the attentions of the others that surrounded him. Despite his obvious age, he seemed active and unhindered by any debilitating illness that ravaged older humans. When he spoke his voice was deep and soft, thick with an accent from Iberia, in southern Europe.

“I have been to every planet and desolate rock in the Terran Empire, and yet you are like no mustelids I have ever seen before,” he said as he approached Rhys and Twitch. Behind him the other mustelids looked at them with innate curiosity. “Please, would you care to introduce yourselves?”

“I am Rhys Griffiths, captain of the Harvester. This is my first officer Christopher Hall,” Rhys replied.

Stunned silence greeted their words.

The grey-furred mustelid was the first to compose himself. “Captain, you say? There is a story there, I can tell; more interesting than any I have to tell.”

“Leandro, you do yourself an injustice. Your stories are fascinating,” a mustelid said from amongst the crowd. This was met by calls of approval. It seemed that Leandro was respected as a sort of de-facto leader amongst the mustelids.

Leandro smiled at the praise. Though he bowed his head, his ears had perked up.  It was obvious to Rhys that the older mustelid enjoyed the attention his younger companions gave him.

“You may call my stories fascinating, but already I can tell these mustelids must have seen and done far more than I could even dream of,” Leandro said. He gestured to Rhys and Twitch to follow him back to the others. “Come Captain Rhys and First Officer Christopher. Let us hear your story. It would be good to hear a new one.”

Rhys nervously approached the expectant group. “I don’t know if I can do such an introduction justice, but I can try,” he said. He took a seat a little outside the circle, which reformed so that he was in the centre anyway.

With a little input from Twitch, Rhys once more told the story of how he became a mustelid, telling them everything from when he received word of Aaron Lee’s defection to the CGP. His audience drank in every word. An awed light was shining in Leandro’s eyes. When he told them about how Cooper and Briggs had attacked him there was a collective intake of breath; fear evident in everyone’s eyes and ears. Twitch earned himself a few admirers when they learnt how he had saved Rhys in Briggs’ attack.

When Rhys introduced Cardinal Erik to his story, on his bridge after Briggs’ attack, he was met was a barrage of angry hisses from his audience. Such was the venom in their response Rhys had no choice but to pause. He looked to Leandro for clarification.

“The name Cardinal Erik is not unknown to us. He was here about six months ago. He took three of our number without warning. I do not know what fate Allen, Sierra, and Hope faced, but we haven’t seen or heard from them since. We fear the worst,” Leandro said, bowing his head again. This time his ears curled in on themselves in barely-concealed fury.

Rhys sucked in his breath. “He tried again with me. He tried to cleanse my soul, or some other crap. I have never liked how the Vatican treat mustelids. That goes back for years, ever since I first learnt what they did.”

“That is good. But please let us move on from such unsettling matters. Please continue with your story Captain Rhys,” Leandro said.

Rhys had little left to say, and after that interruption he tamely finished his story with his departure from the Normandy spaceport. Twitch added that Briggs and Cooper had both been expelled from Spaceways for their actions; something he felt was the beginning of a change in the organisation. There was nothing else Rhys felt the mustelids would want to know, but he was proven wrong.

“A truly remarkable tale, I’m sure we all agree. But why then have you ended up here in the bowels of this prison?” Leandro asked, addressing both Rhys and Twitch with his gaze.

“I may have won the support of most of my crew and of Admiral Garter, but I am yet to win it from my fellow captains. From the moment we landed here, Twitch and I have been shunned and ignored. I have no reason to believe this attitude of the resident captains will change any time soon,” Rhys said with no emotion evident in his voice or displayed in his ears. He didn’t want to give himself the opportunity to feel the anger he had felt before. Now was the time for calm composure, with a determination not to let his setbacks overcome him.

“I had no one else to turn to,” Rhys said. He stood up and addressed the room in general. “As I already told you, at Normandy it was mustelids who welcomed me with open arms, even though I had never once been friendly to them when I had been human. They welcomed me and they accepted me as one of their own, though I did not deserve such a reaction.

“On the other hand, humans who I’ve known since the start of my careers have turned away from me. They no longer treat me like the same person. To them, I’m now inferior. Just because I’m a mustelid,” he said, looking at the ground rather than meeting anyone’s eyes.

“Our accommodation here may not be what you’re used to, but you’re welcome to stay with us for as long as you remain here,” Leandro said. Rhys nodded graciously. As awful as the jail was, he had been rather hoping Leandro would give that offer; he didn’t know what he’d be able to do otherwise.

“If there’s anything we can do to help in repayment, let us know,” Rhys said.

The idea formed in Leandro’s eyes almost immediately.

“You know Captain Rhys, there just might be.”

Leandro hadn’t even begun to explain his idea before the mustelids in Rhys’ services crew arrived. Just like Rhys and Twitch, they had been completely shunned by the humans of the spaceport, and had been discarded to make their own way to find someplace to stay. It had been sheer chance that the four of them had found the prison, having been fortunate enough to follow a local mustelid they had run into near the eastern boundary wall. None of them looked overly surprised to find Rhys and Twitch in the old jail.

There was no question whether or not the four would be welcomed by the locals. Leandro looked thrilled to find his numbers swollen by the six new arrivals.

News of their presence seemed to be spreading too, for more and more mustelids started returning to the dining area. Soon their number was greater than those at Normandy; Rhys had to estimate at least sixty were there.

A nervous tension was in the air. Rhys’ whiskers tingled with it. He already thought he knew what Leandro’s idea was, and now he was here Rhys wasn’t convinced he wanted no part of it. He had already told Twitch and Admiral Garter that he couldn’t and wouldn’t be seen to be part of any mustelid uprising, but he, like all the mustelids around him, were infected with a nervous anticipation. The whisperings of the local mustelids told Rhys that they had been waiting for someone like this to begin one. Leandro had a plan in mind and it would revolve around him. He knew that without even having to be told it.

Leandro must have been counting those present for he stood up. A sudden hush fell. Leandro was as close to a leader amongst mustelids that Rhys had seen. There was a form of innate subservience in the mustelids that was prevalent even amongst each other, let alone in the presence of humans. Whether this had been clever engineering on behalf of the geneticists who had created the mustelids or just a consequence of the many years of servitude under the humans, no one was particularly sure. It led to very few mustelids being natural leaders. Whether because of experience or genetics, Leandro wasn’t subservient. He commanded respect amongst his brethren.

“The time has come,” Leandro said softly. He looked around at all the mustelids gathered in front of him, at those sat at the few tables and those who stood, almost filling the large room entirely. And then finally at Rhys and his crew.

“We are blessed with an opportunity I could never have asked for. We are blessed with Captain Rhys and his first officer, Christopher, and the other mustelids who work aboard the Spaceways ship. They will lead us to freedom.”

Rhys put his head in his hands, but his movements went unnoticed as all the mustelids present starting cheering. He felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked back. It was Steph. She was biting her lower lip; concern etched in her face.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered to her.

She flashed a smile at him. “Give it a try. You might surprise yourself,” she said, just as quietly.

Rhys shook his head but said nothing. This wasn’t something he didn’t want to do, or something he didn’t believe himself to be capable of. This was simply something he couldn’t do. If he were implicated in it, successful or not, then his position in Spaceways would be put under significant strain, even if it were not so already.

“To those of us who have lived under Captain Rivers and suffered for it, are you prepared to fight for your freedom?” Leandro was saying. His words were greeted with a loud cheer of approval. The grey-furred mustelid turned to face Rhys directly. “And those who have just joined us, are you willing to aid us in our cause?”

“Of course we are, aren’t we?” It was William who spoke. He looked around at the others as though daring them to disagree with him. He had suffered the most out of Rhys’ crew under the hand of Briggs. Rhys wasn’t shocked to see him so fervent now.

While the others were quick to agree with William and support Leandro, Rhys remained conspicuously quiet.

“Captain Rhys, are you with us?” Leandro said.

Rhys took a deep breath and looked back at Steph; he lost himself in her eyes. “I’m in,” he said.