Honshu, a small mining colony near the Grugell Frontier

President Janine Cochet sat at the table in the Wardroom of the Dreadnought Arcadia and faced her counterpart, the defeated Emperor Apportamattid XIII.  In front of each Head of State lay a copy of a treaty; the Treaty of Honshu declared a formal end to hostilities between the Confederated Free Worlds and the Grugell Empire, delineated a formal border between the two races, and established full diplomatic relations, with embassies to be established on Earth, Tarbos, Grugell, and the Grugell world Gorbinia.

Behind President Cochet, Fleet Admiral Isaac Gauss smiled expansively at the Grugell Emperor.  Apportamattid had been informed that Gauss was the man responsible for the destruction of his Fleet, and has reacted in a surprising manner, smiling at Gauss and placing a bony, thin, clawed hand on his arm.

“Fleet Admiral Gauss,” he said in badly accented English.  “You are an enemy we can respect.  You are to be – appreciated?”  His brow furrowed over his gleaming black eyes.  “Ah – no – congratulated on your victory.”

“Thanks,” Gauss replied, trying not to flinch away from the alien’s touch.  “You didn’t do so bad yourself.”

“And so, we are now to be friends,” the Emperor said.  “One big happy Galaxy.”  He fixed Gauss carefully with an inscrutable gaze for a moment, and then turned away. The treaty was worked out quickly, and now, on April 14^th, 2254, President Cochet and Emperor Apportamattid XIII signed the document, officially ending the First Galactic War.

Tarbos

An endless chatter of conversation, clinking dinnerware, and the hum of traffic outside defined a meal at Mountain View’s Road House Steak Emporium, but even after years of war the restaurant was still the venue of choice for fine dining in the Confederate capitol. 

Senator Mike Crider Junior, soon-to-be former Senator Crider, stood up and waved at his sister as she walked in the door.  “Over here,” he called, indicating his table at a window.

Andrea Crider smiled at her brother; the Senator noted the glitter of a Medal of Honor on her dress white uniform jacket.  She hugged her brother before they sat down.

“The Medal looks good on you, Andrea,” the Senator grinned. 

“Not as good as a flight suit.  I’m ready to get back to my ship, Mike; I can’t stand this headquarters crap.”

“You turned down a promotion to Commodore, didn’t you?”

Andrea took a sip of white wine and thought for a moment before replying.  “You know, big brother, I figure a person should always have a sense of what they’re best at, and then they should stick to that.  I’m a hell of a good pilot, and I’m even a pretty damn good flight leader.  But the moment you take that Flag rank, that means you’re playing petty politics half the time, and pushing paper the other half – which means you’re not flying at all.  I want to keep up my flight status.  I like having my office in the cockpit of a fighter.”

“I can’t say as I blame you.”

“I figured you might say something like that,” Captain Crider chided her brother.  “I hear tell you won’t be standing election for a fourth term.”

“No, I won’t.  I’ve had enough of Mountain View.  It’s time to go do something else for a while.”

The pilot and the Senator regarded each other for a few moments. 

“I’ve got three months accumulated leave,” Andrea said at last.  “I figured on going home for a while.  Will you be heading back to Forest after your term’s up?”

Mike leaned back in his chair, smiling.  “I’ll go back to see Mom and Dad for a few weeks, but I’ll be leaving again.  You know, I was thinking of signing on with a privateer for a couple years.  See the Galaxy, all that sort of thing, you know?”

“I have a feeling I do,” Andrea replied.

The Arcadia

Fleet Admiral Isaac Gauss found that the Dreadnought class ships made excellent flagships. 

“Some coffee, sir?”  Gauss looked up to see his new Chief of Staff walking towards him, a cup in each hand.  His former Chief of Staff, Captain Jensen, was now in command of the Arcadia.

Gauss took a cup and sipped.  “How far to the space buoy?”

“About three minutes, sir.  Task Group has already coordinated the subspace jump.  We’ll jump as soon as the last screen ship clears the buoy.”

“Very well.”

Gauss leaned back in the leather chair, listening to the Arcadia’s massive drive rumbling faintly under the deck.

His Navy was taking shape.  On Earth, Halifax and Tarbos, new training bases and new officer candidate programs were being planned.  Most of the training curricula were being developed under the scrutiny of the first Master Chief Petty Officer of the Navy, Paul Ortega.  

Something else new was happening on the planet below.  The Grugell Ambassador had arrived on Tarbos the day before, strangely subdued but ready to learn the business of diplomacy – a new and strange concept for the Grugell.

Victory was won, but Gauss had no intention of allowing his ships and crews to rest on their laurels.  Ignoring the President’s personal request that he remain at the Tarbos Navy Base, Gauss was accompanying the Task Group to New Albion, ostensibly to ‘evaluate training and readiness.’  He relaxed now in a large leather chair in the Arcadia’s Combat Information Center, watching the main scanner tank as the Task Group prepared to jump into subspace.

“What do you think we’ll see this trip, sir?”

“If we’re lucky?”  Gauss looked down into the black swirl of coffee in his cup.   Images spun through the Admiral’s mind; images of wrecked ships, of drifting bodies, of nuclear fire and shattered planets.  All that’s over, he told himself sharply.  At least for now, at least this time.

“If we’re lucky?” he repeated.  “Nothing, George.  If we’re lucky, we’ll see nothing at all.”  He took a sip of the dark Forestian coffee. 

“Nothing, sir?”

“Well, maybe not nothing.”  The Admiral grinned and leaned forward, stabbing a contact on his chair’s arm.  “All ships, General Quarters, all ships, General Quarters.”  He looked over at the scanner tank; the trail destroyers were still a few kilometers short of the space buoy.  Close enough, Gauss thought. 

“All ships, for exercise, emergency subspace jump to coordinate-set alpha six foxtrot.  Initiate!” 

Gauss’ laughter echoed though the CIC as the Task Group blasted into subspace and disappeared.

FIN

To see more of Animal’s writing, visit his page at Crimson Dragon Publishing or Amazon.