Good balance. The grip is soft despite being so thin. Feels nice in the hand. Blade is straight, spade-like in shape with an edge shaper then seems real. I can twirl and flip it round and round with ease. It’s a fine knife. My name and rank is etched across the blade in both Human and Galactic Basic. The only little flourish I allowed. Ceremonial arms are meant largely for show after all. Some of the examples I was shown were outright ridiculous. Gigantic blades bent into odd shapes and covered in gems. Sidearms that looked closer to sawed off medieval cannons. All hat, no horse. Not that I know how to ride a horse.

  My Captain Quarters are starting to feel a little more like me. Got my mini bar installed. Big Holo screen with a wide catalog. A new framed picture of me, Mom and Dad hangs on the wall. That was the last time all three of us were together. I look so young. Of course the real prize is the trinkets shelf. Every Expeditionary captain has one. And I’ve already got a few good additions.

  First is the Metal Insignia of the Diegiton. An award for brokering peace. A plaque with a complex speech of thanks etched in. I have no idea what it actually says. Evidently the text is so dense it would take about three Union hours to read it all. Nice thought, though. Next to that is the Shiniest Stone of the Harvesters. Trophies were an odd concept to them. Didn’t fully get the point. Still, if the Diegiton were giving me one they insisted they had to, too. They presented a beautiful crystalline structure. In the olden days of Humanity when such things mattered, this stone would probably have been worth millions. Light refracts in it to create little rainbows.

  Then there is the bust of High Admiral Tristeriol. Something about looking up to him if I don’t know what to do. Prick. Thing must weigh 50 kilos. Had it scanned topped to bottom for any listening devices. Seems he genuinely wanted me to have to stare at his ugly mug every damn day. On the bright side, it makes great target practice.

  Quick toss, full arm extension, rotation mid air, and that’s one less eye. Blade embedded all the way to the extended hilt. Without that little pop up it probably would have gone all the way through and into the wall. The High Admiral never looked so good.

  “Captain.”

  Fairy comes in. Most of my upper staff has a Key but she's the only one allowed to come in without knocking first. Deed doesn’t have one, not that it would stop them if they wanted to. Nor does Joan. Not that it has stopped her thus far.

  “We are nearing the Krint Sector. Union Transports are already underway loading refugees.”

  I lift my hand and give a very specific twitch. My blade is magnetically pulled towards my hand, spinning excessively as it does so. A little something I asked for. Despite making three dozen rotations in this small distance, it still lands grip first safely in my hand. I place it neatly in its sheath then stow it away.

  “Time to act like a real Captain.”

  Entering the bridge to the Moby feels different this time. It feels like I’m meant to be here. Seeing my bridge, now filled at every station, salute me as I enter. Hits you right in the sweet spot, you know? First Mate Inanna hands me another pile of paperwork to mull over.

  “Captain. I have taken the liberty of organizing the initial stages. Locations for landing teams have been planned out to maximize our available units based on distance and population density. Rations have been prepared and portioned to last the entire trek. Medical aid stations are prepped for a full population check up and immediate intervention if need be. Just need you to sign these.”

  “Sounds good. What’s the catch?”

  “We don’t know that part yet. I’m sure something will turn up.”

  “Always does. What are the projections?”

  Screens show a desolate little planet. Mostly desert with maybe ten percent water. Harsh place to have as a homeworld.

  “Darhst. Homeworld of the Krint people. They became a dependent twenty-two years ago. They were already working on an independent space program at the time and had reached minimum requirements to become a Lesser Race not long after joining. We were finalizing their new care packed when suddenly the ruling body of Darhst formerly withdrew them from the Union.”

  “Why in all the Space Hells would anyone do that?”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  “The official reason listed is… excessive weight.”

  “... are they dumb? I think they might be dumb. I mean I’m all for respecting cultural difference and crap but that has got to be the stupidest thing I have ever-”

  “Incoming message from the Krint Prime King.”

  “On screen.”

  Krint are a slender race. About the same height as humans but half the mass. They have large, rounded heads and downy fur all across their bodies. Sad looking guys. Always malnourished as their barren world just doesn’t provide enough for them. Their cheeks are always boney. Their ribs are visible through what scraps they have to call clothing. Their eyes sunken in, staring off into the distance as if there was something there to see.

  Then there’s this fat fuck. By human standards he’d be morbidly obese. By Krint standards he’s legally a family of nine. Pretty sure I could use him as a boulder prop for the third Indiana Jones remake. His folds have folds under their folds. This guy is in charge of a starving population and has the audacity to complain about too much weight.

  “Greetings. I see you have arrived to take away the traitors to my lineage.”

  Not making me like you any better fat stuff.

  “Yes. We are happy to accept these Refugees. Best not to leave them where they are not wanted. Don’t worry, you won’t have to lift a finger. We’ve got it all taken care of.”

  “Very good. I do apologize that our parting was so sudden. Unfortunately, some matters are simply of greater importance.”

  “I am sure. Well don’t let the door hit you on the way out.”

  “How humorous. Hope the terrorists don’t give you much trouble as you flee.”

  “What?’

  “Oh yes. It appears that some individuals have taken it upon themselves to punish those who would abandon their homeland. I have tried to stop it to the best of my abilities but, well, one can only do so much. Not to worry. You Union slaves should have no trouble. You always like to pretend you have all the answers.”

  Screen goes black. I’m starting to miss the subtle indignation of the Triterions. Space Hell, I’d almost rather be talking to a Zeta right now. Almost.

  “Well, First Officer, I assume you do in fact have an answer for that.”

  “Indeed.”

  Plans are laid out for a multi-layered defensive barrier set up at each loading site. Electro stunners on auto turrets. Anti-missile laser systems. Drones funneling and scanning people at close range. Everything set down to the last detail.

  “Down right work of art this is. You’ve outdone yourself.”

  “I cannot take all the credit. Deed was an immense help.”

  “Correction: I merely implemented calculations predicting the most likely methods and locations of attack. At most I was responsible for 38.2% of the project.”

  “Learn to take the compliment Deed. Inanna doesn’t hand those out lightly.”

  “Acknowledgement: I will learn to, as you put it, take the compliment.”

  “Y-you have beautiful LED eyes and your processors are immaculate.”

  Everyone stares at Alcea. How long was she holding that one in?

  “Acknowledgment: Thank you?”

  “Close enough.”

  Alerts pop up all across the screens.

  “Looks like that catch is coming in. Deed, the plan.”

  “Activation: Defense protocols set to Level 2.”

  We get a great view from many different angles. A few hundred Krint in a war charge towards a group of women and children. Some are on low tech vehicles of some kind. Most are on riding animals. The civilians panic and rush. Our ground teams start pushing them in as fast as they can.

  “Hey, Inanna, why are the ground crews almost all Til?”

  “Due to the heightened danger, I asked for volunteers. Every Til that could take a role did.”

  Til are an odd bunch. A Lesser race, just barely really, and one of the oldest members in all the Galactic Union. Spindly and short. Their bodies are almost stick-like yet flexible. They have two long eye stocks and two long flexible appendages that make up their hands. The tallest ones are a meter and a half at the tip of those stalks. They are classified as gastropods. Despite lacking any unique traits or ability and seemingly excelling at nothing, they have found themselves working all over the known galaxy. They’ve even been found in regions the Galactic Union doesn’t actually own. Willingly doing the worst jobs wherever they end up. Won’t lie, I don’t detest them nearly as much as some do, but I wasn’t particularly happy to find out they make up more than 10% of my crew currently.

  “Initializing: Defensive procedure. Long range Sonic screecher activated.”

  It is a very good thing the video feed has no sound. Seeing all those murderers in waiting clutch their ears and fall to the floor as their beasts run away, leaving them in the dirt and dust, makes my ears hurt by proxy. Sure is hard to act tough when there is blood seeping from your head organs.

  “Excellent work. How long until the transports will be fully loaded?”

  “With the sped up timetable we should be ready for mass launch in 15 minutes.”

  “Great. Get the escorts ready. Time for the next hurdle.”