Stargazers

Olympic Dreadnought Agememnon

In the empty, impartial cold of space, under the violet glow of the star Theta, Siegfried appears. It slips from the undulating folds of dive space, light and void distending around it as it forces its way into place there. It drifts a few meters before blasting air from the front and easing to a stop. A short distance away, the dreadnought Agamemnon appears, a mass of steel painted blue and white, decked with rows of cannons. Each cannon is fixed on Siegfried as Agamemnon stops parallel to the other ship.

They form a slow, delicate circle, hailing each other and then matching drift. Their hulls line up and connect to make the trade. Four Olympic soldiers, wearing white armor and carrying assault rifles at their backs, meet the Federation soldiers halfway. The three prisoners are put between them and will be the first to die should shots fire. They are handed off peacefully.

Arthur leads them to the Olympic soldiers, who give stiff nods to the Federation soldiers before leading them away. In the safety of Agamemnon, Arthur gives a sigh of relief and thanks the soldiers. They respond curtly and order him to the bridge.

It has been decades since Arthur has seen the interior of an Olympic ship, and he is surprised to find it similar in build to the Federation ship he was just on. After brief consideration, however, it makes sense to him. Most ships are built by third party dealers selling to both armies, especially during times of peace. A certain degree of uniformity, born primarily from function and cost, is to be expected.

They are walked to the bridge, a wide, angular room with five walls lined with enormous monitors. Thirty people work from consoles spread tightly through the deck. From a raised platform, a tall, broad-shouldered man keeps watch. He wears a uniform heavy with medals and keeps a neat, trimmed beard that is going gray. He greets them with a humorless smile and a long stare. "Hello." He nods to the other two and shakes hands with Arthur. "Jameson, it's been some time."

"It has." Arthur speaks without warmth. His scowl betrays his feelings. "You've been promoted," he says, regarding first the medals and then the ship itself.

"Some circles might see it that way." The man looks past Arthur, to the others. "I am Rear Admiral Gerald Galahad, and this is my ship: Agamemnon. You are all welcome here and will be granted the protection due to all citizens under Olympic law. Men, take the ladies to the infirmary and make sure they're properly bandaged. You can never trust a Feds shoddy work." He looks Arthur in the eyes. "You, however, can stay and tell me what the hell is going on."

Chastity hesitates, watching Arthur as the soldiers flank her. She remains rooted, and they wait beside her, reluctant to move her by force but willing should they need to. Arthur gives her a smile. "It's okay. We can trust them. I'll be along soon." Hearing this, she nods and allows herself to be led away.

Now alone with him, Arthur fixes his attention on Galahad. Old memories surface, pushed along by equally old feelings and lingering regrets. Arthur finds that the only thing that has changed about Galahad in eleven years is the number of badges he has sewn into his jacket. Galahad, in return, is disappointed by what he sees in Arthur. He paces a circle around him, hands folded behind his back, and appraises him before turning his attention to the monitors on the walls. Each shows the inky blackness of space, broken by the faint glow of distant nebulae catching the light cast by the stars.

"You've had a few promotions since we last met," Arthur says. He has moved only enough to follow Galahad's movement. Galahad meets his gaze with a stiff smile.

"I've done well," he says, and he turns toward Arthur in full. "And you, you went into the private sector, didn't you?"

Arthur shrugs. "After everything that happened, the military didn't have much to offer me." He looks around the impressive bridge interior and adds, "It still doesn't."