May 11, 2788

Alone, orbiting the distant star Polaris, the Confederate Starship Enterprise hung motionless. The massive fleet carrier was an imposing presence, a symbol of the power and reach of the Confederacy. Its hull, sleek and aggressive, all gleaming chrome, red, and white, reflected the yellow sunlight of its globular companion. It should have made anyone think twice before starting a fight. As Captain James Langley was about to find out, today wasn’t that sort of day.

A proximity alarm was the first sign of trouble. James, who had been walking the bridge to relieve the boredom, adjusted his white naval uniform, hurried to his seat, and punched up the tactical report. He sighed and activated the full holographic display, stroking his finely-trimmed beard in contemplation. On it, his starship appeared in the center, with the yellow supergiant Polaris Aa superimposed in the background. Several vessels moved about nearby, none of them friendly. Below and to the starboard of the starship was a massive space station, a relic of the Architects. It was a refinery and construction station, surprisingly still operational after millions of years, and now served the Confederacy.

The station was also the location of a territory dispute with some less than savory neighbors, the Trakalian Alliance. The Alliance had tried to take this system several times in the past, resulting in two separate wars over three hundred years ago. It seemed as though Polaris was once again going to be a flashpoint, unless James could do something about it… And do something, he would.

“Sir, two Trakalian marauders are repositioning themselves to our port flank,” Colonel Richard Steele said. Richard served as both Tactical officer and Commander of the Air Group (CAG). A distinct streak of pure white hair crossed the left side of his head, the result of an injury when he was a much younger man. He sat to the right of James, at a station that almost completely encircled him. As a colonel, he was above all but the captain and commander. He carried himself the seasoned swagger of a veteran officer and pilot, and was an absolute professional at his job.

“Helm, adjust position to compensate,” James ordered. Forward and to the left of him was the helm, where sat his First Officer, Lyngia Starev. She was the youngest among the bridge staff, only in her mid twenties, and stood out among from the crew hair dyed an awful shade of pink. Although still within regulation, James wished that it wasn’t. Her deceptively youthful appearance was counter to the cool, calculating woman within.

“Adjusting,” Lyngia replied. Her hands flew across her control board, and the gigantic starship began to move. Maneuvering jets located all across the hull fired at different intervals, allowing the ship to spin and change elevation. For now, it was able to keep up with the smaller ships harassing it.

“We maintain the tactical advantage,” Richard said, reading the display on his console.

“Good. Let’s see how well they adjust to a game of hardball,” James said, looking out the forward bridge viewports. He had to squint even with the auto-tinting nearly at maximum setting. The nearby triple stars filled space with brilliant yellow light. At the distance they sat from Polaris Aa, shields were essential to avoid hull melting and everyone inside being cooked from radiation. The smaller Trakalian marauders would have weaker shields, and if James’ gamble paid off, they would have to retreat long before the shield on Enterprise failed.

“Status on the Trakalian marauders.”

“Their shields are down to less than half power, and are continuing to fail,” Richard said with a nod. “Looks like your plan is working.”

“Let’s see if they might be willing to talk,” James said, turning his chair to face the communications station. At it sat Karl Richter, a recent graduate from the naval academy who had signed on with the promise of a grand exploration mission. So far, he had been underwhelmed as the ship kept getting reassigned to policing duties.

“Lieutenant, hail the Trakalians.”

“Aye, captain,” Karl replied as he punched in the correct frequency. “Channel open. They aren’t responding, but they can hear us.” His voice was heavy, Germanic, and contrasted with his command of seventeen different languages, many nonhuman.

“Good enough for me,” James said. “Trakalian vessels, I think you know the deal. We have you outgunned and outmaneuvered. Withdraw from this system now, and we will not report your presence as an act of aggression. Remain here, and let your hulls get turned to slag. Enterprise out.” With a motion of his hand, James ordered the channel to be cut.

“Kind of blunt,” Lyngia commented, looking over her shoulder for a second.

“Damned right,” James returned. He wanted to say more, but another warning beep interrupted.

“Trakalian ships are targeting our engines,” said Richard. “Their weapons are charged, but they aren’t firing yet.”

“They’re bluffing,” James said, only half certain. The Trakalians, a race of reptilian bipeds, were known for being brash and easy to conflict with outsiders. If his message had provoked them at all, there was no guarantee that they wouldn’t fire.

“Return the favor, but hold fire. If they try anything, though, I want tractor beams locked onto them immediately.” The marauders were unlikely to cause any damage to the massive carrier, but hostile acts wouldn’t be tolerated.

Richard nodded, entering the commands into his station. “Tractor solutions entered, sir. Ready to engage on your command.”

Another alarm went off, this one loud and filling the bridge. The crew flinched in response, and the ship automatically went into combat mode. Lights dimmed, and a red glow appeared at the rim of the wall light panels.

“Missile launch from both marauders,” Richard noted. “Activating point-defense lasers. Lasers are on target and attempting to pierce warhead casing.”

Beams of coherent light lanced out from emitters mounted in the carrier’s hull, instantly striking the incoming missiles. At the point of impact, the metal sheathing began to superheat and vaporize. In response, the missiles attempted to perform a series of evasions, but the laser had superior target tracking. The beams pierced the missiles and the warheads ignited early, their explosive payload detonating harmlessly kilometers away from the Enterprise.

“Tractor beams now, Colonel,” James said evenly.

A moment later, invisible hands reached out and gripped the hulls of the marauders, immobilizing them. The tractor beams acted as a concentrated graviton source, strong enough to anchor or even move nearly any ship of lesser mass than Enterprise.

“Tractor beams are stable,” Richard said, prompting a nod from James.

“Good. Hold them until their hulls get a bit hot. Let them sweat a bit.”

“Shields on the marauders just failed,” Richard noted. On the tactical display, their hulls which were previously marked in a cool blue began to turn green, then yellow, then orange. Just as they were turning red, James gave the order.

“Let them go, and make sure they leave the system. Once they are gone, move us away from the star.”

It didn’t take long for the marauders to make their escape, much to James’ relief. His gamble had paid off. Of course, it probably wouldn’t work again. Trakalians were smart and adaptable, and they would find a way around the tactic. If they returned, he would need another option, and it unfortunately would require greater force. While destroying the marauders was an option, it had to remain a last resort.

With a flash of color, the marauders slipped into the tenth-dimensional realm of hyperspace, and James huffed in relief. He took off his hat, scratched his head in frustration for a moment, and placed it back on with practiced ease.

“Holding at ten million kilometers from Polaris Double A, Captain,” Lyngia said. She locked her console, swiveled her chair about to face James, and then planted her fists on her hips. “This is tedious,” she said with a huff. James didn’t mind her lack of decorum, but outbursts like this were distracting and often irritating. And, as everyone noticed, all too common these days.

“Impatience will get you nowhere,” James replied with a frown, causing Lyngia to shrug. In a previous time, he would have done more than a little chastising, but formality had become relaxed since their transfer to patrol duty. Still, he would only let it slide so far.

“But it would be more effective to just eliminate the threat.” Lyngia said, her voice carrying an almost-imperceptible whine. For having a brutally tactical mind, she still found ways to show just how young and undisciplined she was. There was also a blood-thirst there that James hoped would disappear someday.

“If they pose a threat the next time we meet, then we will reevaluate the situation. Until then, this discussion is closed.” There was a few seconds pause, and then Lyngia nodded.

“Understood,” Lyngia said, the irritation dropping from her voice. She spun back to her console and returned to work.

Silence engulfed the bridge, and the tension of battle faded. Even a momentary reprieve was helpful, and the crew soaked in every second of it. James took a deep, cleansing breath and leaned back in his chair, taking in the view outside the protective shell that was their ship.

Just as James began to relax, another proximity alarm went off. “Who the hell is it this time?” he muttered, turning to the tactical station.

“Starship incoming, direct approach and moving fast. Time to intercept, two minutes,” Richard said. He looked up from his console. “It’s running a Confederate Navy signal, research division.”

“We’re being hailed, Captain,” Karl announced. “Starship Inspiration, out from Dal Koro. They’re requesting permission to dock.”

James nodded. He had a growing suspicion as to who the new arrival would be, but he didn’t dare jump to any conclusions yet. As it was, the person must have had some level of authority to charter such a high-speed courier.

“Clear them for docking. Inform them that I will meet them at the airlock.” James got up and headed towards the rear of the bridge. “Commander Starev, you have the conn.”

***

The research vessel Inspiration traveled at speeds near that of light, propelled onward by its two massive spacetime warp rings. Unlike hyperspace, which created shortcuts between points in the three-dimensional world, the Alcubierre Drive compressed and expanded spacetime around it. The ship felt no sense of movement, relying on the curvature of spacetime to carry it onward. It moved on a straight path towards Enterprise, its course plotted specifically to avoid all known large stellar objects within the Polaris system. In moments the warship would be visible without assistance from magnification devices.

Inspiration had been traveling at high speed for three days now, running silent until the last possible moment. Its last port of call, Dal Koro, was in the Regulus system, over four hundred lightyears from Polaris. It was a long journey, but a necessary one.

Inspiration disengaged the Alcubierre Drive, going to primary thrusters. It rolled into a gentle bank, pulling alongside Enterprise and maneuvering to dock. Firing its starboard retrograde thrusters, it slowed its approach until it came in gentle contact with the now-extended docking ring. Lights went green, and a seal formed between the two ships. At the same time, light-duty tractor beams from Enterprise gripped the smaller ship, keeping it in place. Nothing short of a cataclysm could tear the two apart now.

The airlocks cycled, and two people hurried from the courier. They both carried large travel bags, overstuffed and ready to explode. Dressed in simple civilian clothes which provided generous cover of their features, they were indistinguishable from any other tourist on a private excursion.

Security stopped the two as they approached, requesting that bags be inspected and face garments be removed. James arrived just as the smaller of the two removed a hat to reveal a mess of long, golden-red hair and a beautiful freckled face. James smiled and hurried forward, almost forgetting decorum.

“Commanders Langley and Torres, welcome aboard,” James said with a warm smile. The taller of the two had finally removed his hat, uncovering a dark, weathered face that showed decades of life as a hard-working individual. Commander Scott Torres, a gruff, stubborn man from Texas, extended his hand, which James took in a firm grip.

Commander Mackendra Langley stepped up after the brief handshake and extended her hand. James took it, but instead of shaking it he used it to pull her into a familiar embrace. “Welcome home,” James whispered.

In response, Mackendra looked up into her husband’s face and gave a smile warmer than a thousand stars. “It’s about damned time,” she said.